


Beyond blue eyes

by here_for_jaskier



Category: The Witcher, Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood Magic, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Geraskier, How Do I Tag, Human Experimentation, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, I Don't Even Know, M/M, Mutant Powers, Past Torture, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Temporary Amnesia, no beta we die like renfri
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:35:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 26,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25976044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/here_for_jaskier/pseuds/here_for_jaskier
Summary: Time goes by. Ciri had settled in, her training had begun. Geralt decided to leave Kaer Morhen and find his bard before the winter, but Jaskier was undetectable after the mountain. Yennefer interrupts his search to commit him in another mission.At first he doesn't understand why the mages pick up a mutant in their circle, but then he looks behind the dark secret of nilfgaard.The chaos begins, a chaos that test their limits and Geralt stands between his feelings and a danger he cannot assess ...
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 32
Kudos: 163





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, this is my first fic in english. english isn't my first language. 
> 
> But I hope you will enjoy my little work. (It's gonna be long. A huge plot! I am totally proud.)
> 
> Love you all guys ❤

The sand was soft. The fox mare's hooves dug into it almost silently. Waves rushed, rolled to the golden beach. Fire-red light made the water shine and sparkle. The sun sets. Geralts gaze was fixed on the light sand under his heavy boots. The footprints were clearly visible.

He breathed deeply, smelled the saltwater, the algae, the pine trees of the near forest. Jaskier couldn't have been far. The unique smell was so clearly in the air as if the bard were right next to it. A slightly woody note, mixed with honey and a hint of flowers. With fast steps, he moves along, held his mare by the reins. She snored, rubbed her beautiful head on his arm as if she wanted to calm him down. Endless, further than the horizon itself was the beach in front of him.

No human, no creature was close. His witcher senses relaxed. Isolated rocks cast ever longer shadows, a few seagulls screamed over his head. A crunchy noise, right in front of him. Geralt stopped. A familiar heartbeat mingled with the sound of the sea. Behind the gray stone, which was polished off by the waves, was Jaskier. He stepped forward. He looked unchanged, in the same bright red clothes which he wore at their last meeting. A gentle sea breeze went through the brown hair. He did not smile.

"Jaskier.", began Geralt, the reins from Roach slipped from his fingers.

The bard interrupts him harshly. "Now you have what you wanted, Geralt", he said, without expression. His otherwise bright blue eyes seemed completely empty as if someone has stolen the light behind. "I'm finally out of your life

"Jaskier!" repeated Geralt, with a racing heartbeat. The clouds above the two men moved faster over the sky. "That's what you wanted", said he, the voice colder than the blade of a knife, "Finally."

Before Geralt could take a breath for another try of speaking, the peaceful sea turned into a storm. Around him, the world got distorted, the landscape turned into a rush of colors. At first Jaskier, then Geralt was drawn into the darkness.

Geralt woke up, completely calm. Under him, the bed creaked very quietly as he breathed out. The scent of beer in the air, in the corner he heard the delicate steps from a mouse. He was still in the shabby inn, but the light from the sand still glow under his eyelids. With a sight, Geralt turned to the other side, brushed a sweaty strand of hair from his face. His conscience was not that easy to push aside, out of his head. Feelings of guilt haunt him, dragged him down, and lest him restless. With every day he roamed the country, took orders, and kept his eyes and ears open for the well-known bard, his hope sank.

Neither by the coast nor in the cites have anyone seen him or could give any information. His fame and poetry had spread, Jaskier should have attracted attention. Everybody could play the ballads and everybody recognized him, Geralt of Rivia, the white wolf, the friend of all people, but nobody remembered the creator of these works. In these times, the danger was there, always. Murderers and assassins wandered through the darkness of the streets, sought open conflicts on the path or in taverns. Creatures overtook villages and forests. The political situation was also tense and hostile. Geralt didn't even want to think about the difficulties Jaskier could and already had got into with a personality like his. But the witcher would not rest. Not until he had the last certainty. Maybe Jaskier had been looking for a break, had gone underground. Perhaps he went through other areas, because of too many ex-lovers and men who wanted to see him hanging on the rope or kill him with their own hands.

That's what Geralt was hoping for. Wherever the men with the dark brown hair and the cornflower blue eyes had gone, he should be alive and healthy. He had to. Any other option tormented him. The idea that Jaskier was no longer here, taken out of life ... Wouldn't it be his fault? Their last conversation was a burden on Geralt shoulders, heavy and full of shame. The witcher was sure that he would never forgive himself in his long life if something had happened to the bard, just because of his own idiocy. With these intentions, he had set on the road again. Away from Kaer Morhen, where his child of surprise was trained. Geralt left the place that came close to a home, into the unknown to find Jaskier. The bitter taste of guilt has to go away.

Again he rolled around, to the other side. His gaze directly on the soiled window from the inn. The moon stood high up in the sky with a pale light. in the next moment, a cloud shifted, plunged everything into Again he rolled around, to the other side and his gaze was directed from the yellowed window of the tavern. High up in the sky stood the moon sickle, weakly shining. In the next moment, a cloud shifted from the pale light and plunged everything into nightly blackness.

...

Darkness and heaviness filled the dungeon. Through a tiny hole in the wall with iron grids, blew a weak flow of air.

Right in front of, a shrub hab been sown with dense branches. Only when the sky was clear, he could catch a glimpse of the moon from time to time. Today was not such a day. Leaned against the wall, he listened to the gentle knocking of rain and froze quite more in the clammy cold. He didn't want to sleep. Steps echoed in front of the heavy door again. Fear leaked through the cracks of the thick walls, spoiled the last air around him, nested in his chest.

Jaskier could taste it, a bitter taste that didn't want to disappear anymore. Noisy voices roared through the hallway, coming closer with every desperate breath he tried to take. He pushed himself further into the stony corner. If they didn't see him, they might have forgotten he was here. So heavy. All his muscles seemed to weigh a ton. If they were to pick him up, they would have to carry him out of this cell.

All strength had left him. His mouth was dry, he couldn't remember the last meal, but Jaskier didn't feel any hunger. Only coldness, fear, and how hopelessness bent his torn shoulders. Who would come and find him here? Him and the others who were housed in similar cells? No one knew where they were, no one came out. And no one could claim that there was someone out there who risked life and limb. Perhaps no one out there had noticed that he was missing. Or regret it. With the thought that Geralt would not take any note, his heart narrowed painfully. So what he had said to his face had finally happened.

But he wasn't just missing from the witcher's life. There was no life anymore in him. They held him on the verge of existence, waiting for the cell door to open. Then his screams will fill the hallway. And then it would be over. No one came back. It feels like a rope pulled around his chest, constricted him, he barely got any air.

Severely Jaskier bit on his own lip, immediately tasted the metallic taste of blood, while hot tears ran over his cheek. Through the hole in the wall, a gap of moonlight finds a way into this room.

The clouds moved on.


	2. Another track

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow Guys! I never imagined to get Kudos to this stuff! Love to you all and a new chapter ♥

"- and then he plundered all my supplies! My food, my fine wine, which was an exquisite taste from Toussaint..-"

Sniffing, the man wiped over his sweaty face with a piece of fine fabric. Geralt paid no attention to him.

"Sounds like a simple bear", he said just about.

"But certainly a gigantic specimen! Perhaps the most powerful who has ever lived! On my property!"

This wasn't a job for a witcher. Or rather, it wasn't a job for the white wolf. He had already lost interest in these types of contracts. For weeks he wandered through the villages and cities and completed different jobs. So he had enough coin that he was not dependent on every job on the path.

He let the landlord behind, in the middle of the boast that the head of the hungry beast would adorn his wall in a few days. A step away two bards had interrupted their game to flush out the dusty air from the pub of their throats. The witcher was sure that these people would be an interesting one. Probably they give him information about Jaskiers whereabout. One of them quickly raised Geralt's gaze, and the young man with brown eyes and roughly facial features pushed his friend into the side. The heartbeat of both men increased by the white-haired man with the golden eyes of a cat.

"Geralt of Rivia.", whispered the second and bowed briefly. With a strange feeling, Geralt cleared his throat. This worship was suspicious to him.

"You play here? Often?", he inquired directly.

"Oh yes.", the boy explained, "We want to achieve the perfection of our arts. And of course, we adore your adventures and stories and ballads! The works from Jaskier about Geralt, the butcher of Blaviken, the white ..-"

"Have you ever met him before?" Geralt interrupted him.

"He was here, a few moons ago.", said the young man, nodding. "He had promised to come another time when the wind should lead him this way again." Even the heartbeat of the witcher, usually slower than that of an ordinary person, speeded up.

"Tell me, when he was here. Tell me everything.", he urged, "And what he told you." With a wave of his hand, he put a few coins onto the counter. The beer could not affect to loosen the already loose tongue of the musicians. They introduced themselves as Wincent and Johannes, two brothers with the dream of conquering the halls of the Queens with their singing and dancing.

"It was way before the harvest. " Vincent began. His young face reminded of a child. "That's why we were able to play into the night. We saw his lute and invited him to join us for a song. ", Johannes continued, as Vincent took a strong sip before wiping the foam from his lips. "But he refused. He had to leave immediately. Despite the storm. That night was terrible. "

Geralt listened carefully, not try his own drink. Jaskier had been here. It didn't sound like him to reject an offer to perform. But he had been too hasty to give in to his passion for music and audiences.

"Did he mention why he had to go? So quickly?", Geralt asked, lost in his own thoughts. Both brothers shook their heads.

"He drank fast as fuck as if the devil himself had targeted him. Then he left in the rain, without a coat or something." "With his restlessness, he could have needed a few more beers", John said, "If a muse is unable to lift her spirits, alcohol does never abandon a man. The two nudged themselves with their pitchers, Geralt sank in silent, trying to put the puzzle together. Jaskier had been here some time ago, haunted by something. Or someone? Had a cheated husband proved to be more persistent and wanted to end the bards' life with his own hands? And that over several cities? Geralt didn't know.

These pieces of information were sparse, his first trace ever after a week-long search. But it raised just more questions. It didn't increase his hope. Weeks had passed, during this time something could happen to Jaskier long ago. Especially if he had felt threatened, apparently.

Geralt thanked both men, left the pub. Fresh autumn air blew towards him and gratefully he took a deep breath take the dispelled the sticky smell of dirt and beer from his lungs. A few meters away, Roach stood with two other horses on the tie, his nose buried deep in fresh hay. Geralt watched them while he put together a plan for the rest of the day. It was not even noon, the sun wasn't full in the sky. Without problems, he would reach the next village before night. But then what? It was improbable that Jaskier was sitting in any tavern, with a mug of ale in front of him. Something was wrong. Something had happened and Gerlt hated the feeling to stumble in the dark, not knowing what happened to his bard. Did Jaskier confide anyone? The slightest chance was that he had shared his problems with someone close, maybe even found a hiding place.

Geralt began to untie his loyalty mare.

"Come.", he said, "We have to go. To Oxenfurt." Roach ignored him, just plucked a few more stalks before she let Geralt lead her away from her meal. Oxenfurt. A few weeks ago he tried there first, but he couldn't find any advice. Not in taverns, restaurants, or brothels. Geralt had tried it there at first, but as in all other places in the taverns or brothels. It seemed foolish to him to hope he had missed something.

Only the thought that Jaskier would seek the civilization confirmed him. In the city, full of life he could easily hide. Never would the bard stay in the villages, between swamps and forests, where he attract attention with his colorful clothes.

With his practiced fingers, Geralt pulled the saddle belt a bit more, checked mechanically the luggage before he swung on the horse's back. With fast steps, he left the pub behind, lead Roach on a dirty road and push her into a gallop.

Had the witcher stayed only a few minutes longer, he would have grasped the rattling of the carriage before it had approached the shabby village pub.

He would have recognized the familiar fragrance, which now covered the stale alcohol because the air was filled with lilac and gooseberries ...


	3. Tracked

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter cost me some nerves. I find it almost boring, but I promise that the actual plot will start in the next part!
> 
> Thank you so much for comments and kudos! You're all just doing it great <3

It's a targeted blow. A loud howling echoed between the pine trees of the swamp. Dark blood sprinkled down on him, mingled with mud on Geralt's armor. Again he hissed the blade from silver through the air. The drowner wavered before his head sank with a disgusting sound into the mire.

Every crack of the branches, the rustling of the leaves, and the presence of the animals flowed into Geralt. No more monsters. Body parts laying on the ground around him. The drowners would no longer bother the near village.

Before sunset, he would be able to complete the contract and finally make it to Oxenfurt around midnight. A few hours ago he discovered the order on the bulletin board while Roach enjoyed the freshwater. Jobs like this were easy earned money and so Geralt took another opportunity to ask around in the small community from the village. As he expected, nobody had been heard or seen Jaskier himself. It was demotivating for the witcher and with every negative reply, he became angrier and angrier and desperate.

With a metallic sound, he put the sword back into the scabbard, looked around, and coordinated his way out of the swamp. The muddy holes were deep. One wrong step could cost lives here. Geralt had walked a few hundred meters before he suddenly stopped. A soft scream blew over with the air, unmistakably another drowner. Sometimes one of them escape the group and Geralt felt to get there. But he noticed something else. Blood. Human blood. A weak scent in the air of swamp, some sort of distorted for his nose. With trouble to keep the scent, Geralt followed the way. Never before had he experienced such a striking smell becoming so obscurely.

After a few steps, the witcher realized the source. In the distance, a soldier layed in the trampled thicket, where he had sought protection. Unsuccessfully, a drowner had discovered the man. The soldier had managed to kill the monster, but he perished by his wounds. From near Geralt was able to see more details. Blood leaked still from the wounds, he couldn't be dead for long. The body was still warm. Even though the armor was covered in camouflaging colors and after the agony was the style still incomparable. It was a Nilfgaardian.

The witcher kneeled next to the body, stroke with his finger over the metal from the armor. It seemed to be covered with a strange substance. As if the man had poured blade oil all over his body. Thoughtfully, Geralt put it between his fingers. No effect just smelled abnormal and spoiled the surrounding meters with this stench. Geralt slowly realized why this man escaped his witcher senses. It seemed he knew exactly how far he had to stay behind him so that Geralt couldn't detect the heartbeat which had mixed with the rest of the living beings of the forest. The coated armor had prevented the location from the smell. Alamized, Geralt was back on his feet, listened to the woods, took several breaths. An unpleasant feeling spread in him, the sticky air letting his white hair stick to his neck. But there was nothing around him. Only the gentle sounds from the forest. A blackbird fluttered out the trees over his head, into the blue sky. Nevertheless, Geralt made his way with quick steps. He had to go. If the persecutor didn't come back and report, they'd find him sooner or later.

The camp couldn't be far. Geralt knew they had him, maybe followed him for a long time. If he stayed longer, it could be dangerous. They wanted Ciri. And he was a way to get to her. The trees became fewer, Geralt began to sprint. Slowly the small village with the roofs of straw came into sight, with it a bunch of people. Among them, soldiers in nilfgaardian armor, which reflected the rays of the sun, the black feathers on the lights shimmered like oil. Anger aroused in him when Geralt realized that the foreign men were trying to take Roach away. The stubborn animal did not make it easy for them and reared up.

"Stupid horse, I want to take your bags off!"

"That's my stupid horse", said Geralt, who was now close enough, "Another finger on my horse and your hand is gone."

Slowly the biggest of the men withdrew, hands raised demonstratively. In the next moment, the villagers began to talk confusingly. He realized that they had tried to stop the Nilfgaardian to take Roach including luggage.

"You're coming with us", the captain clarified and stands right in front of Geralt, "Follow us voluntarily..-" "No", Geralt interrupted him, grabbed the reins of his mare, and took her to his side. "I'll get my reward and go my way". , he said, but all the other voices were silent. Only the chirping of the bird filled the air and the pecking from the chicken in that village.

“Let me through."

“You made the wrong choice, disgusting mutant”, said the soldier, drew his sword. The rest of the unit did the same. Geralt sighed, grabbed his steel sword, and jumped forward. In all directions, the villagers fled, far enough not to get into the fight. Women screamed. With a targeted blow, the witcher knocked out the first soldier.

Shocked by this, the visibly inexperienced unit split, they leaned on him like a swarm of disoriented crows. One stroke, one head rolled, another sacked in crying in pain. Blood dampened Geralt's already sprained armor, broke the light on his blade. With a scream, the captain rushed on the white-haired man. Geralt defends, realized that this was a long-time fighter and not like the other men, which had just completed the training.

A violent repartee arose. As if led by blind rage, the Nilfgaardian try to hit the witcher, again and again. With a lightning-fast twist and the work of Aard, Geralt managed to get his opponent to stagger. A powerful push into the weak point of the armor. The scream of pain resounded all over the village and suffocated in a disgustingly bubbling sound as Geralt severed the man's throat. Blood seeped into the sandy soil, lifeless bodies in absurd poses, the sky reflected in their empty eyes.

Geralt hastily put away his sword and turned to his faithful companion. Now that the danger had been over, she briefly snorted into his hands. No injuries whatsoever. The mare was fine. Steps behind him let the sorcerer turn around again, but it was only the son of the village elder who had also committed him for the order of the drowners. “Thank you. ”, he explained, handing Geralt the agreed bag of coins,

“It won’t take long until the other Nilfgaardian are here. I’ll tell them you rode north. Geralt nodded thankfully. His path took him east. In Oxenfurt, he would be able to find a safe place to stay. For the time being, he was close to Nilfgaardian troops, who were set up to track him with methods in great danger.

“Thank you”, he said, already the foot in the stirrup and sat up.

Time was running out. He has to go away, need more distance between his persecutors and himself. The search campaign from the Nilfgaardians was not really a surprise. Geralt had been aware that they were looking for his child of surprise, that they wanted to bring Ciri into their realm. But this impending danger now hovered over him like a dark cloud. They would do anything to get him. Because only Geralt himself knew her whereabouts.

He was completely absorbed in dark thoughts as he directed Roach from the main road and lead the mare on the light forest floor. Obediently, she quickened her pace. It was clear that Nildgaard could not have any information about Lambert, Eskel, or even Vesemir. So, Ciri was safer in Kaer Morhen than anywhere else.

His thoughts were restless. What if they were looking for another source of information? What if they wanted to know at all costs where the witcher had accommodated the princess? Or at least wanted to find clues about the whereabouts of Geralt of Rivia? It was like a pack of stones slipping into his stomach.

There was only one person on the continent who was known to walk by the side of the white wolf and praise the heroic deeds until the lines spread to every tavern and pub. Jaskier. Instinctively he put his thighs on, let Roach fall into a gallop. Every second counted. He had to find the bard before Nildgaard did.

The puzzle suddenly made sense. Why Jaskier rushed through the country, why there was nothing to hear or see about the poet anywhere. Geralt became aware that Jaskier was only in danger of death because of him. The Nilfgaard emperor would use every cruel method of torture to obtain information about Geralt or Princess Cirilla.

Feelings of guilt threatened to suffocate him. Geralt tried unsuccessfully to convince himself that Jaskier was not stupid, not defenseless. Early enough it seemed he has noticed who was after him. Maybe he had found shelter, waited in secret, safe.

Maybe it wasn’t too late.


	4. Unexpecting encounters

In the late evening, Geralt saw the walls from the city Oxenfurt. Roach ran with the wind as if she knew exactly the seriousness of the situation. There were only a few breaks on the way. Today she would get an extra portion of apples as soon as she reached the first pub. The city gate was only a hundred meters away.

Even in the twilight Geralt recognized the group of people before it. The fine hairs on his arms rose as he saw the golden sun on the armor of the men. Nilfgaardian men. Without hesitation, he steered his mare behind close bushes. An unreliable camouflage, but human eyes would not see him in the shade of the night there or even perceive his white shining hair at a distance.

The soldiers shouted, saddled their horses, and were ready for departure. None of them carried heavy luggage, they didn't smell like they usually did after several weeks on the road.  
So their camp would have to be nearby. The first torches flamed up, illuminated the far-off scene, and made it even easier for Geralt to capture every detail that happened before him.  
All the men were sitting on their horses. A commander sat at the top. In a few minutes, they would have to be gone and Geralt could pass. While the man passed by the other, Geralt's seemed to suspend his slow heartbeat anyway.

A direct look at the soldier's luggage enabled him to identify it. Clearly, he recognized a lute.  
Dark brown, fine wood, which seemed terribly familiar to him. Anger boiled up in Geralt, but he didn't move. At this distance, not even a witcher could recognize the fine details of the instrument, but Geralt was sure that it could only be Jaskier's lute, the one he had received from the elves.

The horsemen were far enough away. Fresh hoof marks stood out clearly from the soft ground and he leads Roach to follow the trail in the air.  
Tonight he would get the information about the bard. Even if he had to turn the enemy camp into rubble and ashes. The darkness of the night was on his side. Roach's brown fur became one with the shadows, the sounds of her hooves did not attract any attention between those of the other animals.

So it was easy for Geralt to be at a safe distance, without being discovered to follow the troops. On the horizon, tents were in sight, torches were burning, and more men were walking around.  
The camp had to be freshly opened. Chopped trunks, full sacks, and other stuff were distributed everywhere. An optimal location. Close enough to keep an eye on Oxenfurt, but too far away to be seen.

Almost silently Geralt led his mare into a distant shrub. Whatever would happen in the camp now, he would never allow that Roach would be harmed. With an unpleasant feeling that he had to defend himself, he handed out blade oil on the steel sword with skillful fingers.

Nilfgaard was looking for him. It was unlikely that he would be able to walk into her camp without any consequences. He also took three selected potions with him.  
Every time he closed his eyes, it seemed to Geralt that the image of the lute, as it was lovelessly attached to the saddle of the nilfgaardian captain, had burned into his eyelids.  
Waves of anger overwhelmed him, the unbridled hatred at the thought of what they had done to Jaskier to get to this instrument, which he guarded like his own heart.

One last time Geralt crawled the blaze of Roach, then he marched towards the camp without further hiding.  
The light cones of the torches danced in the distance came closer. Halfway through, Geralt paused and turned the bottle of the first potion in his hands. Then he tilted it.  
At first, no one noticed him as he stepped up to the tents. How safe they felt here amazed him.   
The arriving soldiers had just loaded their luggage from the horses, distributed it, laughed at it, and demanded ale.

Thousands of smells blur into each other, the footsteps resonated despite the soft ground in his head. The unmelodious twisting of a string made him raise his head like a whirling animal. Like a cat, Geralt surrounded the pile of boxes, which served as a cover for him.  
By a campfire, one of the soldiers stood. He was young and looked unarticulated to play the lute.  
Like a lightning bolt, that sight swept through him. He stepped out of the protective shadow, the sword still on his back. A few men gave surprised sounds of themselves as he stepped into their midst.

The surprise of his appearance was an advantage, like the fear around he was able to smell. Already after minutes, the poison worked and made his skin pale.

"Where is the bard to which the lute belongs?" asked Geralt with a loud voice.

Almost all the soldiers were silent, only a few distant, who had not yet heard what was happening, still talking to each other. Instead of an answer, a man came from the largest and best-preserved tent.

Geralt immediately identified him as the leader of that branch and turned to him. His senses perceived the entire environment.

"Geralt of Rivia!", shouted the man, "Good to see that you join us voluntarily."

"Where is the bard?" the witcher again asked emphatically. His blood boiled, he increasingly lost patience as he looked into that fat face. He knew where Jaskier was and he would speak.  
With a single movement, Geralt pulled out his sword, holding the tip of the oiled blade straight to the man's throat. Behind him, he heard metallic sounds. All the others also had their weapons ready. He only had a few seconds, because a man was already trying to approach him with creeping steps.

"We are thirty!" the leader explained, a bad sparkle in the eyes, dark like a tunnel, "Put your sword away or you will see your lute player faster than you like. "

Geralt turned around faster than the blink of an eyelid. With a stroke, the head of the first man, who had stood right behind him, rolled. It seemed to be the command. The rest of the nilfgaardian tried to rush on him.

He did not hesitate, took himself out of the commander's area, and put Igni on the crowd that threatened to overwhelm him. The ground burst up, the flames leaked on the steel armor. Painful screams echoed between the tents again. With another sign, Geralt also set the linen fabric on fire.

"Alive, we need him alive!"

The command departed from the sound of the blades, the bellow was overshadowed.  
Guided by blind hatred, Geralt drew a line between the armed men.  
The air smelled of biting smoke and he could almost feel the metallic taste of blood on his lips. With one kick Geralt put a fighter with a razor-sharp ax on the ground, was right above him. An unclean prank tore his throat in two. 

The first seemed to realize that they had no chance. The flames threatened to enclose them, and if they escaped the hungry fire, the witchers blade wouldn't have mercy.

In a moment of calm, which Geralt allowed breathing, he discovered the lute with a fright. The fire had not yet reached it.  
Geralt determinedly grabbed the valuable instrument and brought it to safety. Almost tenderly he leaned it against the wall of a still intact tent, far from the deadly flames and roaring blades.  
With a scream of war, a soldier rushed abruptly on him. His face showed massive burns. He seemed insane in pain and Geralt couldn't parade the momentum. The cold air hits his arm and a second later his skin seemed to be on fire. Blood leaked out, but Geralt was not interested in the pain at all.

With the power of one rotation, he succeeded in meeting the other in the center of the body. The inside of the man turned outward. Blood everywhere.

The fire had the entire side of the camp under control. Many horses had panicked and now threatened to make the rest of the camp under their hooves equal to the ground.  
Still trembling with adrenaline, Geralt let his eyes wander. And found his target.  
A coward like all of them, the leader was no exception. Panically, he tried to stop one of the blindly fleeing horses, but the animals did not obey. Once again he grabbed the mane of a flat-colored mare, which passed him.

He didn't even touch the hair, as his hand fell with a disgusting sound on the soft, dark ground. Screaming, the leader looked at his stump, which had been an intact arm for a moment, held him away in panic, and stumbled straight into the massive and building-up figure of the witcher in front of him.

"Where is he?" said Geralt rough.  
Sticky blood was in his hair and on his skin. The cut gently pounded on the arm.

"Where is the bard Jaskier?" The blade of the steel sword pointed to the man's chest, ready to strike.

"Dead. " stammered the commander under sobbing, the gaze still clinging to his mutilated arm,  
"The lute should only bring you on our path."

Just a few moments ago Geralt had still glowed like the ground under his boots, had been filled with wrath and the intoxication of battle. Now he seemed to fall, deep, into a black hole. The world revolved around him, the starry sky seemed to be approaching. Words echoed in him, becoming an echo of thousands of voices.

Dead. Jaskier.  
Jaskier is dead.

The dreadful image of a nilfgaardian cell shifted from his inner eye. There Jaskier had died agonizingly and alone, and it was only Geralt's fault. With seemingly the last force, he rammed his blade into the leader's shoulder, climbed over the winding body, twitching in the battle of death.

Like in trance, Geralt put one foot in front of the other, went to the still untouched lute. Before he stretched out his hand after the last remnant of Jaskier, he wiped it off on his shirt. The bard would have disgusted only by the thought that the instrument would be stained with blood.

As soon as Geralt had taken it like a treasure, he set the last tents on fire. They lighted up, brightened up the night. The heat coming from them was unbearable. Everything was blurred in front of his eyes. His cheek was wet. Confused, Geralt lifted his hand, wiped it dry. But the tears don't stop. Everything in him pulled together again and again, with every slow heartbeat.

Stumbling, he wanted to leave the scene of the massacre. The fire would get higher, would soon attract some people. And Geralt wanted to be alone. Like he would be for the rest of his supernaturally long life. His bard was gone.

Go on. He had to go on. His face was wet with tears, soot and blood were glued to him, and he clutched the lute with his fingers, so desperate that the ankles of his fingers came out white. The air was filled with death and ashes. Geralt couldn't breathe, a slight sob left his throat.

He was lost in the wide field when a cool breeze reached him.

In the meantime, the black coat of the night had completely covered the world. Somewhere in the distance, a horse roamed. Probably escaped from the camp. The wind became stronger and with the breeze, a new fragrance comes from fire and ruin, a fragrance that Geralt raised his head.

Silent steps approached him and alamatedly he looked around. A shadow came closer, graceful and with it, the smell of lilac and gooseberries became stronger until it wrapped everything.

Geralt didn’t know where she came from or how she found him here. In fact, Geralt knew nothing more, only that everything in him screamed and screamed and did not mute when the female figure stepped into the last glow of the distant and still raging fire.

Yennefer’s face spoke of anxiety, her eyes perceived every detail of his appearance, remained at last attached to the lute, which Geralt held as if his life were attached to it. Her raven-black hair waved gently in the wind, she was now standing right in front of him, in her floor-length dress, which made the grass rustle.

“Geralt... -"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> who ordered the drama with a little angst? Oh yes, I am sorry.   
> So, Yen is in the house and Geralt of Rivia has feelings. Thats all. Thats the chapter.
> 
> But you're all soo nice! Thank you so much for kudos and comments, I wish I could hug you all <333


	5. Nilfgaard's plan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hell yeah, Geralt finally gets the information and the plot is going on.  
> Greetings to everybody, I hope you have a really nice day <3

How exactly Yennefer had managed to take him into a portal was not clear to Geralt in retrospect. He had repeatedly murmured Jaskier's name, trying to explain himself. How did the world just continue to turn?   
Even Yennefer had not been able to give him an answer, but the beautiful sorceress persuaded him to accompany him.

Anyway, for the time being, he didn't care. Only for Roach, he had asked Yennefer. His faithful horse could not remain alone in the woods for a minute. Without adorning himself, he had walked through the portal.

Dirty and lost, Geralt was now in an old, but the well-preserved estate. For the first time in his life, he questioned its meaning. No one could see the raging storm inside him. Only the tears had drawn their traces through the dirt on his face.

"There are fresh clothes for you in a room", Yennefer said now. She looked impressive. Her black hair fell silky over her shoulder, her face was spotless, but the violet eyes reflected her worry inside.

"I'm sorry, but Tissaia has to go back that night. And she'd like to see you before.  
Geralt blinked.  
"Yen. " he began with a broken voice, "What's going on here?"

"To explain this to you would last the night", the black-haired woman said quietly, "I'll take care of your wound, and then we'll have to go to the hall."

The witcher surrendered to his fate, allowing Yennefer to magically devote himself to his slit arm. Only when she tried to take the lute out of his already deaf fingers with a gentle grip did he resist.

“I’ll take them to your room”, she promised, very gently. Again, Geralt felt his eyes burning.

“He’s dead, Yen”, he said with a pressed voice.

“I know”, she murmured, “I’m so sorry. ”

Quietly she left the room, with the precious instrument, and left Geralt behind. Alone with his thoughts and biteful guilt. He would never look into Jasker’s shining blue eyes again. Listen to the singing, his endless chatter. How many times he had refused to answer his many questions.   
All the nasty comments and the ignorance with which he had considered the bard were like rocks on him and seemed to squeeze the air out of his lungs. Filled with grief, Geralt lowered his head, staring at the noble stone floor. He was cold, his bones were heavy.

He doesn't care why he was here, he had received only a few pieces of information, which had already been difficult for him to capture. They weren’t here alone. At the same time, Yennefer had mentioned the presence of several mages.  
Before he could think about why Tissaia herself was apparently here, Yennefer returned with a neatly folded pile of fresh clothes.

Mutely she handed it to the witcher. His own clothes were ripped, muddy and blood dripping on the stones.

“We’re waiting for you on the first floor”, clarified Yennefer and disappeared again. Did he have a choice? Geralt slowly began to change. He felt as old as he really was, his body hardly wanted to obey. The clean linen felt good, the leather of the trousers fit. None of this, however, removed only a fraction of the miserable feeling attached to him.

In the corner of the big room, Geralt discovered a bowl of water and briefly washed the blood and tears from his face. His hair remained glued with mud because there was no time to unravel the strands.

The door fell behind him thunderously into the castle as he left the room. The echo resounded from the walls as he took the path towards the stairs. From below, voices blew to him, the presence of the mages tingled on the skin. After another long hallway, he walked through an open door and found himself in a pompous hall. Metre-high, richly decorated ceilings, marble floor beneath his feet, gigantic chandeliers illuminated the scene, hanging right over a worn-out board. Separate plates were still on it.

Almost all present people turned their heads when the white-haired man with the eyes of a cat came to them. Some familiar faces flashed against Geralt.

Triss Merigold, who had just spoken with Yennefer, gave him an encouraging smile. Geralt did not reply. Some glances followed him, but he did not see in his eyes anymore, only wandered aimlessly until a graceful woman, in a long, velvety flowing robe in mossy green stood in front of him.

Tissaia de Vries. Her dark hair twisted up in the neck to an elegant knot, her face did not reveal the slightest feeling.

“Geralt of Rivia."  
“Tissaia”, he replied. His voice still didn’t sound like usual. Maybe it would never do that again.   
He forced himself to put aside every thought about Jaskier.

“I am relieved to finally meet you here, white wolf”, Tissaia told him.

He blinked. He was still unaware of the benefits of his presence.

“Yennefer will instruct you into the details”, she continued, pushing for the younger black-haired mage. “I have to return to Aretuza immediately. Nearby, Nilfgaard spies have been spotted. ”

When Nilfgaard was mentioned, a stone seemed to sink down on Geralt’s chest. So he had no choice but to nod. Tissaia replied with an elegance that he had not experienced in his decades of life and walked through the hall, out of sight.

Geralt looked at her until a gentle touch on his shoulder awakened him. When he turned around, he saw Triss with sea-blue eyes. “Come Geralt, you certainly have a few questions”. , she said quietly and led him towards Yennefer.

Again, the witcher admonished himself to remain focused. The tension was suddenly palpable.

“What is this here really about?” he asked, “Why I am here? It doesn’t necessarily look like a nice meeting."  
“This is not actually a tea party”, Yennefer meant dark and saw through the room. “We are in the final phase of planning”, Triss cautiously began to look at Geralt’s questioning face, “We have to stop Nilfgaard."

A bitter taste spread on his tongue. He could only agree with that.

“We now know more than enough”, said Yennefer, “And have taken every risk to get this information. . -"  
The sentence hung incompletely in the room, Geralt could think the rest of the part and was now attentive. He had never seen Yennefer like that before. A sharp worry fold formed on her forehead.

“What’s the south’s shithouse up to?”

Yennefer took a deep breath. “Nilfgaard tries to create his own magicians, with various experiments. They inject ordinary people’s blood to change it and make it powerful

“How please?”, Geralt followed. This sounded more like a wild dream.

“We don’t know how it works”, Triss added, “They have begun to experiment with people. They mix the blood of people with the blood of magicians, elves, monsters, and whatever else seems useful to them.

“No one can survive this”, Geralt made it clear. The poisonous blood of the monsters alone would destroy a human body from within. “That’s what we thought at first”, Yennefer said bitterly, “However, Nildgaard has found a way and is cheerfully breeding uncontrollable fighting machines.

“We have to destroy their lab and get these people out.", said Triss, “Preparations are underway

“And shall I go with you?” Geralt concluded directly.

“Yes. ” Yennefer said, “And take a look at these people. Or whatever may have become of these people..-"

A mutant should examine other mutants. Geralt did not even try to understand what they were thinking. But with everything Nilfgaard brought down from the core, he would fight. He owed it to Jaskier.

“When is it going?” he asked only briefly. Both women looked astonished, apparently expecting protests or other questions.

“In a few days”, said Triss.

The hatred still raged in him. No witcher took revenge. Maybe Geralt made an exception.

He’d make Jaskier’s murder pay by taking out their new weapon.

The outcome of the war rested on their shoulders.


	6. Mission failed?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are finally in Nilfgaard. Surprises incoming <3 
> 
> In the future here will be moodboards for chapters as soon as I have found out how to insert pictures here ..  
> And of course after someone special showed up, lol. (nobody knows who ..)

Toughly the days passed. Geralt spent hours meditating, hoping for regeneration. His physical wounds no longer plagued him, but the pain inside tore him at every hour.  
He had not even succeeded in focusing on the risky company. Geralt noted the few information that Triss had yet given him, but in a way that it was none of his business.

Now he knelt again in front of the old fireplace in his room, slowly opened his eyes, and returned to reality. Automatically, it drew its gaze on the dark lute leaning against the wall. Geralt did not stay, as a knot formed in him.

Instead, he rose, trying to put aside all the feelings that stacked in his chest.

It was time to put on the armor. Some potions were ready. Triss and Yennefer had been very generous and had taken care of him. Both with magical materials clothing and food, as well as with assistance. Yennefer always wanted to know everything about Ciri, as she had not seen her princess through this affair for a time and she's missing her.  
The diversion had done him good and Geralt decided to return to Kaer Morhen as soon as the lodge no longer needed him in this matter. 

Slowly he put on his armor, blankly wiped and black shimmering. Surely he stowed the potions. The blade of his sword shone in the fire, finished oiled and ready for use.

Without a glance back, the witcher left the room. He didn't want to let the magicians wait. Triss, Yennefer, and three other mages at a younger age, as well as Tissaia, were in the hall when he met them. The oldest would open the untraceable portal, which would take them directly to Nilfgaard.

Geralt was uncomfortable just thinking about this trip.

He had successfully suppressed the fact that they would be teleporting to a roof beam. Within the walls, they had people on their side. Yennefer assured him of this without naming him. Unnecessary risks were avoided, so the wrecked upper floor was a weak point of the fortress that they would use.

Another precaution was that Tissaia, meanwhile, with the help of magically reinforced some rooms. It was clear that they were trying to save as many people from Nilfgaard's catches as possible. Unless there was anything human about them after these experiments.  
Geralt was a witcher for decades. He was accustomed to brutality and agony and other abysses as a child. However, Yennefer's more detailed narratives, which she had received first-hand, had overwhelmed him with a feeling of nausea.

"Stay vigilant and destroys the lab in all circumstances", Tissaia said to them again, with a sharp tone in her voice. Yennefer nodded resolutely and put on her velvety gloves. Today she wore a combination of black and brown. The ideal combination to remain unrecognized in the shade.  
With a graceful move, Tissaia opened the portal. 

The glowing and wavering light briefly dazzled him. Tightened, he walked in after to Triss. Only the upcoming task now counted. Life was at stake and Geralt ignored the unpleasant feeling, clarified his senses.

His shoes hit solid wood and Geralt instinctively squatted to stabilize his position. Darkness around him, but he recognized, like all the others, that they also landed without error on the outside beams, which replaced the collapsed roof. Nilfgaard had taken over this ruin and rebuilt it, far from civilization.

Geralt let his eyes wander over the landscape behind him, clearly visible through a gaping hole in the stone. Cold night air struck him. There's no city nearby. Only threatening shadows of mountains, a clear starry sky over them.

"No one hears the screams here", Yennefer said bitterly, as she also looked around, "If we are successful, a smoke column rises up here afterward." With these words, she slipped under one of the wooden columns. The others did the same to her. The last one was Geralt, who also moved completely silently.

Without a word, the group made it lower, changed the corridors, and bridged the last floor of the exterior facade, whose protruding stones made it possible for even a normal person to climb.

Already from a distance Geralt heard voices, the clapping of heavy armor and occasional whips. Time for the first potions, so that the effect would be precise. The echo came closer.  
With a quick arm movement, Yennefer gave the signal. Everyone went to the position they were talked about earlier. 

Behind a massive and damaged statue, Geralt sought protection with a drawn sword. His heartbeat was calmly and evenly, and there was a wonderful emptiness in his head. As it looked, the phase of the first plan went perfect, as the steps were getting closer.  
The spy had described this gang in advance because it was the furthest away from the rest of the guards. Somehow the person managed to get all the human test objects from the underground rooms and to get them along with some guards.

"Where did this fucking flood come from?" The words came closer, with him numerous steps. Impossible to say how many, since echoes echoed from the walls.

"Maybe from the rain", suspected another dull voice. The group broke into the hallway. Individual figures were already visible. At least fifteen bent people, in ripped clothes, surrounded by soldiers in armor. Twenty strong nilfgaardian men. Blood, tears, and dirt were in the air.

"It hasn't rained in the last few weeks, you dick.", the first soldier answered harshly.  
The last thing Geralt saw was Yennefer's triumphant smile before she stepped into the middle of the corridor. Metal clapped when everyone stopped by surprise. Weapons were pulled, but the mage's hands were already glowing in an icy blue.

Seconds later, Yennefer had frozen the first row of warriors. Her icy faces were distorted by shock, her armor was covered with crystals. The moment of surprise allowed Geralt and Triss to assault the rest of the garrison. With a few blows, the sorcerer stretched out two men who blocked his way and catapulted with Aard three more far back into the corridor.

The scraping of metal on stone seemed to shake the whole building. "Are you insane?", Yennefer shouted angrily,"No signs, otherwise, the everything will collapse under our asses!"

She wasn't wrong about that. Under the glowing pressure wave, the stones seemed to moan. Triss and the other two women had their hands full to convince the prisoners that they had been saved and that the magicians did not want to hurt them anymore.

Their soft voices were almost swallowed up by the fighting noise. The heavy smell of fear was in the air.

"We're taking you away from here, to safety", the redheaded woman promised. Yet her voice trembled. The seconds flew away, the time was short.  
"I want to see my mommy!" A girl screamed hysterically. Because of his senses, Geralt was able to see, even in the dark, that this child had two different-colored eyes.

"Triss!" Yennefer urged to leave, was ready to create the rescuing portal.  
It all happened too fast. Even for the reflexes of a mutant. The little girl ran away, still crying, scurrying between them all back in the direction they came from. Triss was right behind her, and at the same time, more men were approaching, clattering.

"Triss!", Geralt yelled, started to sprint. A few meters before the soldiers, the sorceress managed to capture the escaped and screaming child. Right away, Geralt was with them. Light flashed up in the background. Yennefer had opened the portal.

"Run!" Geralt yelled desperately to Triss. From the corner of his eye, he saw a man pulling a bomb. The quiet sparks danced around his hand. Geralt reacted instinctively. In one step, he was between the guard and the mage.

A yellow shield of pure light spread between him and Triss. Geralt held Quen upright until she and the innocent child came out of the danger zone. With the last of his strength, he turned to the guards and thundered them back with Aard.

The pressure wave of the sign made the floor vibrate under his feet, the walls moaned, threw back the blue light radiantly bright. Geralt saw the small but deadly bomb flying over his head, but at the same time also that Triss was just a few feet away from the portal. All the others had already disappeared.

Yennefer screamed something, her voice was swallowed by a piercing bang. The first stones crumbled from the walls before the whole wall seemed to collapse in slow motion.  
In last desperation, Geralt wanted to sprint in the approximate direction of the portal, but the world wavered and the ceiling finally fell apart over him.


	7. Captured

Underneath him was only cold and hard stone. Without opening his eyes, Geralt stroke gently over the rough surface with his fingertips.

Carefully, he touched something else. Strah. A few stalks. The dust tickled in his nose, but his limbs were heavy as lead. Maybe he slept at Roach's stable for lack of a room? Sluggish thoughts clouded his mind. But there was no heartbeat like that of his mare. He used a painful hammer in his head, as well as in his right shoulder. Slowly blinkingly Geralt stepped up.

It was dark, only a narrow strip of light fell through a hole in the wall. This was enough for his eyes to capture all the details. All around him are walls. Hollow, mossy. A slight clink finally waked him up.

His hands were in chains. Massive iron chains are attached to the wall. A few times the witcher shook it with all his strength, then he collapsed in himself. His face burned from scratches. It was as if he had too many potions in him. He was bad and slight dizziness started with the smallest movement.

“Fuck. ”, he murmured with a harsh voice. More and more scenes played out in front of his inner eye. How he had brought Triss and the escaped child towards the portal, how the bomb, in combination with the sign, had brought the passage to collapse. Some bits of solid rock could also bring the body of a mutant to limits.

It would take time to regenerate. The time he wasn’t given here under warranty. He was now one of the prisoners of nilfgaard. Through the walls, Geralt heard slightly different sounds, but the stone walls were too thick to identify them.

Only the smell bothered him. After urine, dirt, and long-dried blood. It was only a matter of time before someone took a look at him. The unpleasant feeling in Geralt's chest intensified.  
Nilfgaardian men have been after him for a long time. And now they would do anything to get the information about Ciri. They wouldn't get a word out of his lips. Rather, Geralt swore to himself that he would leave his life in this little cell. He had nothing to lose. Yennefer and Triss were smart enough never to get into the hands of soldiers. Ciri herself was protected in Kaer Morhen. And Jaskier was the safest of them all.

Once again Geralt threatened to be trapped by grief. Maybe he died in a place like this. Something in him cramped at the thought that perhaps even here he had taken his last breath. Alone, in the dark. Knowing who he put him into this situation.

Quietly, Geralt leaned against the cold wall, trying to get himself under control. He would regret any inattentiveness. There would be a way to escape and if he came he had to use it to get back to Ciri. He was all she had.

Geralt could not bear the thought of leaving his princess alone in this cruel world.

Steps were now in front of the door. No way to bring down this wooden monster with Aard or even Igni. Apart from that, Geralt’s hands were so tied that the use of signs was an impossibility. Knarringly, the door swung open. An unknown man entered and with him, the scent of a liquor distillery pulled. Almost had to strangle Geralt.

"Our mutant has awakened", he roared in a harsh voice, "The sorceress will looking into your ugly skull soon, motherfucker. " A burp left his throat and he rubbed himself over the armored belly. A mean grin crept onto the bearded man's narrow lips.

"But the Emperor is even more pleased to be welcome Princess Cirilla here at home. And we'll do it soon. "  
Something in Geralt was rearing up. An ugly monster and made him forget his fear and the danger of this situation.

"As for that", he squeezed out, "I still have a message for the emperor. "  
With a head movement, he indicated to get a little closer to the guard. The grey eyes shone with excitement as he approached the witcher. The haze of alcohol obscured Geralt's mind and sense. "And what is the message?"  
Geralt spit right in his face without interrupting his eye contact.

“That he can fuck himself.”, he explained the perplexed man, who now erected himself disgusted.

"Abhorrent perverse miscarriage”, he groaned and wiped himself with the sleeve over his face, which turned red in anger. Geralt was immediately aware that he would regret his wrong courage.  
A kick into the stomach pit confirmed him, but no sound escaped his lips. Further kicks followed.   
He bent, the chains twisted. Several blows thundered at him, the ceiling already spun over him. 

Blood ran down on Geralt’s sleeves, wet his lips. A sharp pain stretched to the last nerve and with every small movement, it seemed to intensify. His shoulder was broken.

"When the magic bitch is done with you, you'll end up whining like a dog.", the soldier explained, wiped the witchers blood from his fingers. His gaze remained on the red, sticky liquid  
"Maybe we can do something with that as well. Then you're still of use to a whore-goat."  
With these words, he left the cell and left Geralt alone.  
He tried with his healthy arm to get the disturbing blood out of his face. It burned in the eyes.

"Fuck.", he cursed loudly, listening to his own echo. A mage could read his thoughts, after all, Yennefer did it most of the time. The fear for Ciri paralyzed him. His only chance was for Yennefer to add one and one together and get Ciri out of Kaer Morhen before Nilfgaard could squeeze that information out of him. Once again, someone unlocked the door. Not an old and drunken guard this time.

For a moment, Geralt thought he had fallen into a dream. The woman who entered the room was dressed in a shimmering dress, made of flowing violet fabric. Her hair fell like a waterfall of silver over her waist. Her appearance was quite the opposite of this dirty place, that Geralt felt the situation rather absurd than threatening.

The young face of the woman, when she looked at him, was completely void of expression. Magic surrounded her, filled every gap between the walls.

With a vigorous movement, she finally slammed the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a very short chapter, I am so sorry. The next ones will be longer and more exciting. Promise.


	8. a new hope

Paralyzed, Geralt stared at the woman's appearance. She seemed to wrap the dirty and dark room in a faint glow. Her gray eyes immediately fixed him and Geralt knew that she was already trying to enter his head to read the valuable information from his mind.

Desperately, he turned his gaze away, stared at the wall behind instead of her, while trying to fill his mind with banal information. Thousands of pictures played out in front of his inner eye before he decided to go through the text of toss a coin to your witcher line by line. Should the magician break her pretty head over it. Her gaze still pierced him, but now her eyes widened.

"The White Wolf", she muttered to herself, "Of course. "

Before Geralt understood, armor clapped in the distance. Heavy steps echoed through the hallway in front of the door. With an alarmed look on her face, the magician turned to him.

"Listen to me!", she instructed him, her bright voice sounded forceful, "The emperor's guards will be right here. Tell them that Ciri is in Toussaint... -"

Geralt wanted to open his mouth confusedly, but was interrupted by the woman with an insistent gesture.

"Just play along until I open the portal", she explained, her voice was getting quieter, "I'll get you out of here."

The witcher couldn't answer because her hands suddenly flashed up and a kind of ball, shaped like purple clouds, hit him directly in the chest. It was as if every single bone was on fire, with his broken shoulder chasing several showers through its body.

Blind from pain, Geralt screamed, didn't even know how the heavy cell door was knocked up again.

Dust stirred up, several men spoke, swords clattered against metal armor, but it didn't matter to him. The witcher gradually became black in front of his eyes, he curved under a new wave. Every muscle was burning.

"Where is she?" shouted someone, apparently right next to his ear. Roughly Geralt was grabbed and pressed against the wall, "Where is the princess?"

The screaming reverberated between the walls. Without answer, Geralt collapsed into himself, glancing at the small strip of sunlight in which the dust glistened. Slowly the agony of the spell subsided, but he felt as if he had been slayed, every heartbeat echoed in his body. Not a moment later, someone tore him up by the collar again, followed by a punch in the pit of the stomach. Chains rattled, but Geralt didn't make a noise.

"Where is Cirilla?", Someone thundered towards him. Wet breath grazed his cheek, the pounding smell of cloves and lemon wrapped him up and let him almost choke.

"You should speak more clearly", Geralt growled. Breathing was hard.

"I'll be right with you. . -," threatened the second guard, approached.

"Excuse me?" Geralt continued unimpressed, blood ran down his temple, wetted his face, and dripped to the ground, "Please speak louder. "

A kick in the side was the price of his words, despite the black dots dancing in front of his eyes, he suppressed a gasp. Once again, the guard took a blow, the metal of the armored fist already flashed, Geralt ducked away.

"I have another method", the mage now interrupted him vigorously. The blow didn't happen. Carefully he looked at the woman. Her face was utterly expressionless.

"When his internal organs lie on the ground, he is of no use to anyone. " She explained coldly, "There are more effective ways to loosen his tongue than to inflict pain on him. "

"What ways?" roughed the guard. One could see the tension in his smooth shaved face, the bare hatred blazing in his eyes as he looked again at Geralt, who silently curved in pain. His shirt was soaked in blood and he followed the conversation with an unpleasant feeling in the stomach area.

"Maybe someone else's screams will make him talk. " said the magician slowly. Goosebumps swept over his body. For a moment, Geralt forgot his own pain as he watched the silver-blonde woman call for more guards. Wasn't the escape of the others a success? Wasn't he the only one on the mission that was left behind?

For a few seconds, it had looked as if the mage was on his side, perhaps even the spy mentioned by Yennefer, but her plan constantly raised more questions. Geralt strangled, spit a mouth full of blood on the ground, tore the chains again.

The injured shoulder deprived him of strength, held him in place. He heard footsteps through the open door.

The ordered guards approached the cell. Other heartbeats mingled with the others. Like a dog scenting a trail, Geralt abruptly raised his head.

Perhaps the beats against his head had been too severe because he thought he was hallucinating. With the two men in nilfgaardian armor, another man was thrown into the dungeon and immediately fell to his knees. Dark brown hair, longer than her last encounter. He gasped in pain and looked up. His cornflower-blue eyes shine bright in the shadow and Geralt's heartbeat seemed to be stopped.

"Jaskier!"

For a moment he forgot where he was. Wild joy and panic intermingled. Desperately he tore by the shackles, which cut into his skin, ignored the roaring pain, which in the meantime stretched through his entire arm.

"G-Geralt?" Jaskier sounded a little hoarse and at second glance Geralt left the positive feeling that he was alive quickly. He was emaciated, pale, his shirt torn, decorated with old and new bloodstains. Some scratches covered his neck, as did his arms, and he hardly seemed to have the strength to straighten up.

The presence of the bard tingled on the skin and fear threatened to overpower Geralt. In the meantime, the other two guards had left the room, the mage blocked the exit. Geralt watched her hands clench nervously to fists.

"Where is Princess Cirilla?" asked her, in a calm tone. Once again the skin of her fingers began to shine, the purple fog appeared and she was already pointing her hand at Jaskier.

"No!" Geralt called immediately, remembered what the magician had advised him before the arrival of the emperor's guards, and decided to follow this plan. With an elegant movement, the woman squatted in front of him.

Her eyes looked like fog, but he didn't look at her. Instead, the gaze of the amber eyes was still attached to the bard. The medallion jerked around his neck, took the magic was, which seemed to remain in the murky air.

Out of nowhere, the woman pressed the palm of his hand against his chest, surrounded by purple rays. A pain, as if someone ripped out his bowels alive. As if by a veil he was taking her other hand over the shackles. Invisible to human ears, the chains clattered quietly and dissolved.

The next moment the mage pulled the spell off him, rose, while the witcher trembling sank to the side. From a distance, he heard the female voice explaining something to the guards, but the words were blurred. He drove off into an insignificant nothingness.

Only when cool fingers crossed over his cheek did Geralt open his eyelids with difficulty, glancing straight into Jaskier’s eyes. The bard knelt over him, knocked a streak of hair wet with blood out of his face.

“Come away from there”, a guard held on to him, stretched out his arm and was, in essence, towed away from the younger from Geralt, but barely touched him by the shoulder he shrugged back. At the same moment, the medallion threw a shower over his back.

The short moment of inattentiveness was expensive for the emperor’s guard. Unobtrusively, the sorceress had crossed the room and now took advantage of the moment. With a single hand movement, a thunderbolt resounded.

The soldier sacked. The other looked perplexed at the pile of metal next to him. Geralt hastily pulled himself up, ignored the burning in every part of his body, and placed his arm directly protectively around Jaskier.

In the background there was a fire, a portal appeared on the back wall. Awakening from their stubbornness, the remaining guard rushed towards the two men, yelling for reinforcements. With the last force, Geralt stretched out his arm without letting go of Jaskier.

Aard was only supposed to get the Nilfgaarder out of the way, instead, a force pulsated through the sorcerer's body, which almost tore him off his feet.

The shock wave shook the floor, tore the walls, dipped everything in blue light for a few fractions of a second.

"Shit!" The first stones fell into the slip, a cloud of dust enveloped them. A hand closed like a vice around Geralt's arm, pulling him with astonishing strength in the direction of the portal.

Everything disappeared in a blazing light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welp, Jaskier is back!  
> And now the real fun beginning and maybe the romance too ... <3
> 
> Big hugs to everyone, espeally the one wo left kudos and comments. You're just great.♥
> 
> By the way I worked on a few Geraskier oneshots (mostly porn without plot or a little bit plot) but I will update this story here regularly.


	9. Feelings of guilt

Everything blurred in the glowing light. Geralt felt Jaskier slipping away from his grip, trying to grab him more firmly so as not to lose him between the worlds. In the next moment, the world around him became clear and ruthless, the witcher collapsed on the stone floor. His breath was heavy and with every movement his body protested violently. Everything revolved around him. Jaskier lay motionless next to him. Over and over again Geralt drove desperately through his dark brown hair. "Jaskier, stay with me. Please stay awake", he murmured with a suffocated voice. His other hand was on the young man's chest.

Under his fingertips, he felt the constantly weakening heartbeat with panic.

"Jaskier!" He completely ignored the steps around them, they seemed like far away. Fearful, Geralt looked at his blood-stained hands, which clawed into the worn-out shirt of the bard. Still lifted and lowered his chest evenly. Someone touched him gently on the shoulder, tentatively trying to get him to let go, but Geralt shook off the touch. Meanwhile, his wolf medallion trembled steadily.

"Geralt, please. " Stains danced before his eyes, but the witcher swore that he would never let go, for anything in the world. He wouldn't leave Jaskier alone a second time. Once again, someone touched him, he turned his gaze, only recognizing a blurry figure with red hair, which touched him gently on the forehead. Immediately he lost consciousness.

────────────────────────────

The next time Geralt woke up, he felt like he was lying on clouds. He breathed deeply and immediately felt the same burning pain in his lungs. Soaked in sweat, he opened his eyes. Above it only the ornate stone ceiling, strangely familiar. The smell of potions and medications was in the air. What he thought was clouds turned out to be a bed. Only when Geralt struck the ceiling aside did he realize that his wounds were freshly bandaged. They must have given him something. His head seemed to be padded with cotton from the inside and spread uncomfortably on his ears.

The room he was was the same that Yennefer had given him in the estate. Red light fell through the slightly dirty windows. Impossible to say whether it was dawn or dusk. A pile of fresh clothes was at the foot of the bed, the small bedside table was filled with glass bottles and cans. No wonder Geralt felt so intoxicated. Apparently, the magicians had provided for him generously. A deep thank you was appropriate. Both to Yennefer and probably Triss, who had patched up what was left of him after his escape with the unknown sorceress from Nilfgaard. Memories of recent events fell on him.

Faster than he was supposed to, Geralt got out of bed. The burning pain betrayed him that the fractures in his ribs and shoulder had not yet been fully regenerated. Jaskier. He was alive. It seemed to the witcher almost like a dream and in the face of the state also like a miracle that his bard was actually still alive. Geralt's buttery knees almost refused her service when he reached for the clothes, yet he slowly began to get dressed. The fabric felt soft and clean. He did not find shoes, but Geralt did not plan to get involved in the next fight. Buttoning the shirt, he noticed that something was missing. Driving his fingers groped for the permanent feeling of the chain around his neck. His medallion was missing. He could not remember losing it but later decided to devote himself to this matter.

Halfway to the door, Geralt stopped abruptly. Was it really a good plan to go looking for Jaskier? Suddenly, this idea seemed terribly absurd to him. When Jaskier regained consciousness, it was clear that he probably didn't want to see Geralt. Wasn't it the witchers' fault that Jaskier got into this situation in the first place? All the pain and every single injury Geralt could attribute to himself.

Feelings of guilt devoured deeper than he thought of their last encounter. The words were bitterly on Geralt's tongue, and only with the thought of Jaskier's facial expression, he swallowed heavily. No man who was still in his right mind would face a monster like him voluntarily. It was undoubtedly the best thing for Jaskier if Geralt stayed away from him. With a heavy heart, the witcher let himself fall back on the bed. Meanwhile, the sun had finally set, darkness had set over him. There was no storm inside. Only squeezing deafness and guilt.

Steps broke through the silence, the door swung open. In the frame appeared Yennefer.

"You're still alive, too." With these words, she finally entered the room and immediately lit one of the candlesticks in the corner of the room with magic, which dipped the room in the warm flickering light. In short, she mustered him, noticed his facial expression, more motionless than it was otherwise the case. "So far we are all cared for, even if we are short of remedies", "Tissaia is not pleased with the fact that this lab is still standing, but the most important thing is that we've got you out of there."

Thank you for everything, Yen", Geralt replied silently. "Thanks Triss", rebuked her, "She put together what was left from you and thank Felinè that she recognized the situation." It was only slowly dawning on Geralt that Felinè had to be the breathtakingly beautiful mage from the cell. In a short time he seemed to chew on his own tongue, the words came hard over his lips.

"How is Jaskier?" Something undefinable groped over Yennefer's face. For a fraction of a second, Geralt feared the worst. "His condition is stable.", the black-haired magician slowly explained. Incompletely, the sentence hung in the air and Geralt waited for it to continue. "We were also able to care for the other people we liberated", Instead, she changed the topic, ignoring Geralt's irritating facial expression, "But they need help that we can't give them. "

"Who can give them this help after what Nilfgaard has done?" he replied quietly, "Are they dangerous?" Yennefer seemed to weigh up her answer carefully. The glow of the candlelight was reflected in her violet eyes, making her facial features look softer. "They are unpredictable", she explained, "There is something in them that they cannot control. It does not belong to them, but it is connected with all their feelings and actions. "

She didn't have any words. "I don't know if they'll ever be able to control that force in themselves. This sounded anything but edifying and Geralt did not like the idea. According to the description, it sounded like a bomb, of which no one was able to tell when it exploded. "Many let me not even close to them without anesthesia", said Yennefer, "I hope you will have more success in the next few days.

So this was his job. Geralt almost shook his head with indignation. How would he approach completely broken and spiritually confused people? Before the witcher was able to express such concerns, the mage walked away from him.

"It. . -", she began, stopped, and turned to him again. Intrusively, she looked at him. "It would be best if you didn't see Jaskier until the next few days", she said quietly, "Until he has overcome the shock." Her voice did not tolerate any contradiction.

Anyway, Geralt was sure that it was best for everyone to stay away from Jaskier. A lump pressed against his throat. He had no choice but to nod. Again, self-hatred burned under the skin. With a soft click, the door fell into the lock and Geralt was alone with his thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really don't want to go through with the plot that goddamn fast, so sometimes there are small chapters like this with not that much content, but necessary for the whole.  
> But there is a little moodboard and I hope you like it anyway. Next chapter Geralt and Jasker meet each other, I promise <3


	10. the unsightly truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ! TRIGGER WARNING !
> 
> This chapter contains descriptions of a panic attack

Geralt awoke before the first ray of sunlight. He didn't feel rested. Nausea dominated his body, the injuries still felt strangely sensitive and the few hours of sleep had been haunted with horrible nightmares that would not let him go even when he was awake.

At dawn, the house around him came to life. Even though the walls Geralt heard some noises and indefinable voices, as well as various steps, the rattling of dishes, here and there something fell down, once a glass broke. It made him more and more restless.

He decided to escape the building and instead go to the stable to take care of his mare. In the last few days Roach had had the opportunity to recover from the hardships. Geralt slowly walked trough the house, avoiding getting close to someone, because it was buzzing in his head. Even when he noticed Yennefer's proximity, he turned and went away. He really didn't have the sense of company.

With all the detours, the sun was already high when he reached the entrance hall. His footsteps reverberated softly from the walls. A door at the other end creaked quietly when it opened.

Felinè entered, in her hand some described parchment leaves on which her gaze was pinned. She had waved her long hair around her head today like a wreath of silver, and her floor-length moss-green dress rustled at every step. When she recognized Geralt's figure from the corner of her eye, which had remained halfway through the hall, she lifted her gaze.

Today, she seemed far less aloof than she had been in the cell. In fact, she met the witcher with a smile as she stepped up to him.  
  
"Geralt. ," she began cautiously, apparently unsure how he would react, "How are you?" Before he could answer, she shook her head. A sad trait was playing around her corner of the mouth.

"Stupid from me.", Felinè muttered, "How should you are going after what happened in Nilfgaard?" There was more truth in these words than Geralt wanted to admit. Since the events, everything seemed to have fallen apart and seemed impossible to rearrange.

"I regret what happened in that place", she explained seriously and looked at him with her misty-grey eyes, "But at first I didn't want to reveal my cover. Even if it was no different afterwards. "  
Mute nodded Geralt. He understood. Despite everything, he was grateful to her that she had managed to free him and especially Jaskier from the dungeon. Perhaps she had read his thoughts, for the next moment she took up the topic.

"Geralt, if I had guessed who Julian really was, I would have freed him sooner", she confessed quietly. Apparently, Jaskier had stubbornly given his real name instead of revealing himself as the bard who sang about the white wolf. But it still seemed to have been blown up. Geralt wanted to follow up, but felt someone slowly feeding them. A few moments later, a figure snuck out of the shadows on the upper landing.

Geralt had already recognized him by his heartbeat and looked up surprised. Also the mage now turned her gaze, registered Jaskier, who stood insecure on the first stage. His fingers spasmodically enclosed the railing and Geralt could smell the fear. Carefully he approached the stairs, realizing that the bard was wearing one of his black shirts. They had always been a little too far for him, but now the material hung too loosely on him, the black pants also.

Something was wrong. Jaskier's heartbeat went too fast and he breathed strangely irregularly, as if he could barely breathe.

"Julian?"

Feliné approached him, went up the stairs already, Jaskier showed no reaction whether he had heard her voice. Immediately the witcher pushed the young woman a little aside, also climbed the stairs and approached carefully the trembling Jaskier, who only breathed more hastily.

"You're safe", Geralt spoke out loud, trying to make his voice sound as calm as possible while taking another step.

"I can't breathe", Jaskier whispered hoarse. His knuckles came out white as his hand cramped violently around the railing.

Worried Geralt came closer, stood in front of him at once, wanted to touch him, but shrugged back briefly. He was glowing. Throughout the fabric, the waving heat emanating from the bard was clearly felt. The shirt itself was now wet with sweat and stuck to him.

For a few seconds the witcher had suppressed the presence of another person, but now Feliné pushed past him and laid his hand on Jaskier's forehead. Warmth flared up and, frightened, he shrugged back, away from the mage.

"Jaskier", repeated Geralt calmly, but clearly, remained at a respectful distance for fear to press the younger still further. In the blue eyes lay panic, rushed he looked back and forth, while his heartbeat continued to pound.

"Look at me", Geralt gently urged him to put aside his own insecurity.

Jaskier's gaze flickered over to him. The pale skin showed hectic red spots. He hyperventilled.

"No one will hurt you", Geralt said, looking directly at him, at the same time he pushed Felinè with an arm movement from the bard's field of vision behind him, "I am here. You're safe." He took another step. Jaskier stopped in place, did not back away, but wrapped his arms helplessly around him.

Shortly, his knees apparently threatened to give in, as if he wanted to fall to the side, but Geralt stepped forward and grabbed his sweaty hand. A feverish heat also went out of the skin, yet Geralt laid the hand on his own chest. Carefully, as if he were breaking under the touch, the witcher took Jaskier's other hand and timidly detached it from the railing.

"Breathe in", he spoke softly, looked Jaskier straight in the eyes. For a moment he lost himself in the clear blue, but with the panicked fear that lay in it his heart became heavy. Nevertheless, he suppressed everything, controlled his own breath which Jaskier now felt under his hand. Hectic he breathed, as if he were drowning at any moment. Geralt's hand still held his, both resting on the witchers chest, above his heart, hoping that the slow, steady blow would calm Jaskier.

Quick steps interrupted them, thundered at them suddenly and within a few moments Yennefer appeared rushed in the corridor. Her eyes widened in terror as she recognized the scene in front of her.

"Breathe out now", Geralt murmured, paid no attention to the women, but focused on Jaskier. He did as he was called, breathed jerkily, cramped out.

"He is in fever", he called to Yennefer, who was slowly approaching. Around them the air seemed to flicker strangely.

"It's not a fever", Feliné interjected with a sharp voice, but Geralt ignored her words. At any moment, Jaskier threatened to collapse, one wave after another seemed to chase through his body, looking for a hold, his fingers clawed into the older man's shirt.

"Breathe", Geralt whispered to him, not even sure if his words really got through to Jaskier. He seemed far away, trapped in a world of his own with a mist of fear and panic.

"Get away from him, Geralt. " Confused, he raised his head. It had been Yennefer who had spoken and now looked at him with unequivocal clarity. However, he did not even think of following their instructions, instead he hesitantly supported Jaskier without giving him the feeling that he was being held.

"I'm serious", the black-haired woman repeated, "Let him go!" Her loud voice, which stopped from the walls, frightened the bard, he turned his gaze. Sweat ran out of his hair, which stuck in his forehead, he trembled with exhaustion and tension.

Out of a reflex Geralt stretched out his hand and stroked the moist strand from his face with a feathery touch. Unlike a few moments ago when the mage was close, the tension from Jaskier's body gave way. He breathed out, closed his eyes, while Geralt noticed how charged the air around him was. He, too, sweated lightly in the meantime, he was warm.

"He needs something against the fever", he said again. Slowly, the anger rose in him. Didn't they understand that every minute counted and that, to this extent, Jaskier could take permanent damage?

Again he looked at Yennefer. Her face also showed reddish marks, she wiped her forehead briefly with her hand, still alarmed.

"Bring him to my room", she said briefly, "I'll take care of it. " As if in a trance, Jaskier followed him, while he seemed completely absent, as if he heard nothing of the words Geralt spoke to him. The unpleasant feeling intensified when Yennefer took care of him and disappeared with Jaskier in one of the rooms.

The door fell into the lock and Geralt was left alone. He spent the following hours waiting, then meditating, always hoping to get information about Jaskier's condition. It was an ordeal. Only when he had finally taken care of Roach in the evening and had returned from the stable to the estate, Yennefer approached him. In a nutshell, she reported that Jaskier was weak, but under control. She did not allow visits, as he was in a healing sleep.

Guilt still gnawed at Geralt. Even if Jaskier had not retreated under his touch earlier, he doubted that he would accept his sewers in the future. Yennefer had justified his panic attack with the withdrawal of some sleeping and painkillers. Only slowly did he seem to come to terms with the shock, and when he finally came to, Geralt prepared for his rejection.

In the meantime, he had thrown all pride overboard, was ready to kneel in front of Jaskier and ask for forgiveness. Even if there was no forgiveness for his opinion. Had it not been for his harsh words on the mountain, these cursed words did not let Geralt come to rest and which arose out of a blind rage. If it hadn't been for him, Jaskier wouldn't have gotten his hands on Nilfgaard. If they had been together, he could have protected him. This certainty turned in a circle, gnawed at him, and let him neither rest in the day nor in the night.

Once again he lay in his bed at night, wide awake, his eyes open and tied to the richly decorated ceiling. His stomach grumbled in shorter intervals. Concern for Jaskier had deprived him of his appetite, but his body seemed to surrender in the face of lack of food. Another half hour passed by agonizingly, the sickle of the moon slowly moved across the sky and Geralt gave up.

Quiet as he was, he was able to sneak into the kitchen without any problems, hoping to find something edible there. In his nightwear, consisting of a pair of pants made of light cotton fabric and the matching shirt, he opened the door. Involuntarily, he hit his chest with the fingers. He still did not wear the medallion with the sign of the wolf school. Yennefer had rejected his question on the grounds that she needed it for further investigation. Geralt felt strangely incomplete without the chain around his neck.

Without a sound, he made it through the hallway, sticking to the side, for he was aware that heavy steps in the middle of the floorboards would cause a creak. Only the stairs groaned quietly under his bare feet. Arriving on the ground floor, already in the corridor that brought him to his destination the fastest, Geralt heard voices from a distance. Apparently, he wasn't the only one who couldn't rest that night. Light was already burning in the kitchen, flickering through complete darkness. Long shadows twitched over the stone walls. The voices became louder, sounded upset and Geralt was familiar.

"Yenna! You have to tell him!" Unmistakably Triss. Steps betrayed that she was walking up and down. In the middle of the corridor, a good ten metres from the kitchen, Geralt stopped when a note of lilac and gooseberries hits his nose. Triss wasn't alone.

"He doesn't remember!" Yennefer abruptly replied, "In his world he wakes up in Nilfgaard and remembers nothing that has happened, nor where his scars come from or what it is that he feels in himself. What do you think would happen if I gave him back the memories of the experiments?" Holding her breath, Geralt listened to Yennefer's tense voice. Her steps also came to his ears, a little rattled. She seemed to be clearing things up.

"The ignorance only makes him more dangerous", warned Triss.

"What do you think is more risky?" Yennefer snapped back, "If he knows what danger he poses to each of us, or if he remains ignorant and it just happens at some point?" There was silence for a moment. Both heartbeats were fast, full of excitement. Cold crawled Geralt's feet up into his body. He didn't move.

A sigh. "Geralt was lucky today", said Yennefer. The witcher flinched briefly when mentioning his name, "And yet I had to sedate Jaskier with another potion. "

A pack of ice seemed to slip into his stomach. "I am aware that this is not a permanent solution", Yennefer added, for Triss seemed to have expressed her objection, "But what should I do? Geralt believes it would be a fever. "

A rope slowly laced his chest. Suddenly Feliné's words resonated in him. She knew.

"We need to talk to him", Triss said sharply, "Jaskier is dangerous and he have to know that. There is no question of weighing up the danger he poses. " The words fell like stones into silence. Shortly, Geralt thought he was losing the ground under his feet. Everything around him was spinning.

Yennefer laughed joylessly. "In a moment he plucks at his goddamn lute and in the next moment he could burn the house in ruins. What he did in Nilfgaard. "

Adrenaline was now pumping through Geralt's body. His hands shook and he clenched them to fists. "I thought Geralt destroyed the cell?" gently hooked Triss. Yennefer sighed again. A sound of porcelain on wood was heard. She seemed to be sipping tea at the same time. There was a hint of fennel in the air.

"Geralt's sign was only the trigger", Yennefer murmured gloomily, "Somehow Geralt has accessed Jaskier's power. Together they blew up the cellular tract. Felinè reported how the walls collapsed. "

"I don't know what to do", Yennefer now asked straightforwardly, utterly desperate. Rarely had Geralt heard her so emotionally and openly. "I know how important Jaskier is to Geralt and I don't want to do anything more to him than already happend. But we must act. "

His heartbeat seemed to echo in silence. Blood was still rushing in his ears.

"We should talk to Geralt tomorrow. " Triss urged again, "There is no way around it and at the latest when he demands his medallion back he will notice it. " Involuntarily, the witcher grabbed his chest. That's why they took the silver chain with the wolf's head from him. He shouldn't feel anything was wrong with Jaskier.

"Maybe you're right", sighed Yennefer. It sounded tired, "But Geralt did not even consider that Jaskier was a experiment of Nilfgaard. He thinks he was trapped to provide information about Ciri and him. . -"

This was true. Not for a second had Geralt considered the idea that Jaskier could also be an test object by Nilfgaard. The truth struck him like a blow and he felt strangely stupid, almost blinded.

Both women continued to speak, but their voices faded in the distance, becoming a tormenting echo in his head. His ice-cold feet carried him back as if by themselves. Trembling, Geralt stumbled up the stairs, his legs barely obeyed him. Everything now made sense, was so clear. Jaskier's scars spread all over his body, his skinned arms, the damaged veins where his blood had been forcibly mixed. He had thus turned him into an unpredictable creature of unknown strength.

A painful and disgusting process that he couldn't even remember. How could anyone ever tell him what happened and what he was capable of? Once again, his stomach contracted. Geralt had the feeling that someone was cutting off his air. How could he have been so blind when they met at the stairs? It was not a fever that made Jaskier's skin glow. It was the magic that came out uncontrollably.

With seemingly last strength he reached his room. He firmly enclosed the iron door knob. His chest lifted and lowered violently as he tried to process what he had just heard. Despair, anger and hatred burned in him. What should happen next? The same questions that tormented Yennefer now circled in his head.

He simply couldn't expose Jaskier to the pain of the past. But how could he live without ever knowing what had happened to him? Not to mention the unpredictable magic that pulsated in him and threatened to erupt at any time.

Geralt didn't have a single answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the plot is going on! <3  
> i really hope you liked it and thank you a looot for all the kudos ♥


	11. broken

Carefully stroke his fingers over the white flowers before Geralt plucked the stem. Without damaging the white myrtle, he shook it out. Small insects and pollen gushed down before he put them in the bag of linen, which was already full of bumps, from which a sweet scent of different herbs came from.

The morning sun shined down on him. It was time to return. With fast fingers, Geralt laced the bag full of herbs and other plants and attached it to Roach's saddle. Patiently the mare had stood beside him and had followed him step by step through the woods, here and there biting after a few stalks of grass.

Even before dew and day Geralt had escaped from the estate but had encountered Triss, who had asked him to increase the list of ingredients needed for potions and other magical brews. The witcher had devoted himself thankfully to this task, even if it did not calm his mind.

Especially not, since he now swung on his horse, not ready to return to the walls where he had to face Jaskier and all the unspoken things between them. Yennefer would be looking for the conversation and make him realize that he had to face the facts.  
The truth stood between them and rarely had Geralt felt so overwhelmed. Perplexity and guilt struck him, circling in his thoughts, not letting him escape. Besides, there was the fact that he was burdened like a rock on his chest and again came to his consciousness. It was still his fault that Jaskier had fallen into Nilfgaard's hands in the first place. Sooner or later, the bard would come across this fact. There was no forgiveness. Muffled Roachs hooves over the damp grass, steadily left the uneven forest floor behind, and in the distance, the windows of the Geralt estate flashed towards him.

It took him a while to arrive in the stable and his mare was saddled and cared for before he opened the main gate. To his surprise, he did not find the hall behind him abandoned. On the stairs, half-covered by a mane of pure blue hair, a girl blinked at him. A loop of white fabric supported one of her thin arms. Her eyes were sunk, her cheeks were hollow. When Geralt finally entered, her gaze spread frightened, she jumped up before he had even opened her mouth and took the stairs upwards with daring steps. Not two seconds later, Triss entered the hall. Under her eyes were also shadows, her mouth was a single narrow line in her beautiful face.

"Where did she go?" asked her, breathed out vigorously, with her eyes on the stairs, "Not again..-"  
With a short roll of her eyes, she took off the bag of herbs.  
"Thank you"

From close up, her red hair seemed a little as if she had only gone through a few times with a comb. Apparently, Geralt wasn't the only one who didn't find sleep that night.  
"Now all I have to do is find Coleté", Triss sighed, walked away from him, and also took the stairs up. Halfway up the steps, the sorceress turned to him again. Her sea-green dress rustled quietly.  
"Yennefer wanted to see you", she explained to him. Her facial features came out clearly, "She's upstairs."

With these words, she disappeared. Stummly Geralt looked after her until her steps disappeared and only his slow heartbeat was buzzing through the silence. His throat was dry alone with the thought of the conversation that would now follow.

With a foot on the heel of the stairs, Geralt tried to arrange his confused thoughts and to put the right appropriate sentences, with which he was able to make Yennefer understand that her conversation with Triss yesterday had not gone unnoticed.  
Slowly he began to move, first deciding to visit his own chamber to lay down armor and sword.

A few meters outside the door, surprisingly small, fast steps filled the house. Moments later, a girl was rushing around the corner, her long blonde hair was blowing after her. When Geralt had last seen the child, there was panic in the different-colored eyes, she had been pale with fear. Now she laughed and her cheeks glowed pink. She ignored the witcher standing in the middle of the corridor before she disappeared at the other end. In the distance, a door opened and an unknown young voice shouted clearly audibly "Ten!"

Geralt entered his room amusedly so as not to stand in the way of the game. The wood of the door dampened the sounds of the children playing and wrapped him again into his world of dark thoughts and worries. He leaned his unused sword against the wall, along with a sheath, near the lute that still remained in their place. Jaskier was supposed to get her back. Perhaps it would encourage him to keep his beloved instrument in his hands again. As in slow motion, Geralt laid off the parts of his armor, carefully stowed them away before he retired, and looked at his work with an empty eye. Gradually, there was no way of taking any more time. Maybe it was best if he could get the conversation over with as soon as possible and figure out how to proceed.

Once again he left the room, now everything around him was quiet. He approached roughly the direction of the west wing in order to identify the stairs leading to the next floor. Until now, he had avoided the upper and final two floors because he knew that the liberated people from Nilfgaard were accommodated there in rooms that were sometimes magically altered.  
At the moment Geralt was neither able nor in the mood to confront them, but he was aware that he could not avoid these people here forever. Suddenly, the witcher stopped. At the end of the hallway was a final room, whose dark wooden door was only leaning. The familiar, much too fast heartbeat made him pause and step closer. Taguously Geralt knocked with his ankles against the wood. The steps that had just gone up and down were silent and finally, he pushed the door open.

In the middle of the light-flooded room was Jaskier. He was sweaty again. Meanwhile, his otherwise bright blue eyes looked tired and seemed to have been stolen the light behind them. His fingers began to tremble, as soon as he saw the witcher in the door frame.  
In the small room, it was very warm. Two giants took up almost a complete side of the wall so that the sun could go through the slightly dirty windows. Dust glittered in the air.  
The daylight only made Jaskier's injuries more evident. The wounds on the neck were sore and a clear smell of blood emanated from him. Geralt swallowed heavily. A lump blocked his throat.

"Jaskier?" Again he started to walk a few steps, turned aimlessly to the window. His movements were unarticulated and he gasped quietly.  
"How are you?" The words were hard on the tongue, because Geralt already knew the answer, from Jaskier there was no reply, only the smell of fear slowly crawled through the room.

"Leave me alone."  
Not more than a harsh whisper, the words fell like stones into silence and sank into Geralt's stomach.  
"Jaskier. . -"  
Despite his attempt to make his voice sound sensitive, it was useless. The younger one didn't even look at him anymore. With a slight sigh, he tried again.

"Have you had breakfast?", Geralt inquired quietly, for he heard the silent grumbling of a protesting stomach.  
"I'm not hungry", Jaskier murmured with his head down, "Please Geralt, I want to be alone."

"I won't leave you alone."  
A joyless laugh. Geralt's heart became heavy. For a moment it seemed like Jaskier wanted to turn around and the elder almost expected that he would finally say all the ugly things to his face, just as Geralt himself had done on the mountain in his boundless rage and which he now deserved so much.

The warm air in the room was unbearably pressing. There were no curtains that could give a little shadow. With the approximate plan to open one of the windows, Geralt took a step. The sound of the boots on the wooden floor made Jaskier rush around.

"I said leave me alone!"  
A wave of heat pulsated through the room, Geralt rolled over with full force. His breath seemed to catch fire. He stumbled back blindly, while every piece of skin, which was not covered by clothes, was diluted when in contact with the humid hot air.  
With his eyes enlarged and irritated, he looked at Jaskier. Tears ran over his cheek. Despite all this, he did not seem to have noticed the heat roller or Geralt's wheezing. The magic was almost tangible, buzzing in the air, and now Geralt also understood the words from Yennefer.

"All right", he brought out, his lungs strongly protested, "I. - I'll come back later." Instead of an answer, Jaskier turned away, trembling all over his body.  
Slowly the heat melted between the walls. With silent steps, the witcher left the room, closed the door behind him, and leaned against the cool wood. His heartbeat was faster than ever before in fear and pain, and despair threatened to overwhelm him. He had to talk to Yennefer. Find a solution.

Geralt gently touched his cheek, where the skin was still tingling. It hurt, but nothing came close to the stitch in his heart, which is put on him when a gentle sob came through the wood of the closed door.

────────────────────────────────

After some time, Geralt found Yennefer in one of the rooms that she had set up for medical care. The mage was in the company of a young man whom she had just taken care of. He sat on one of the improvised tables that served as couches. His legs didn't even touch the ground and when he opened his mouth he revealed a row of sharp teeth that were horribly familiar to Geralt.  
"Tonight you should put some more anointing on it.", Yennefer explained to him and with quick fingers closed a can from which a pungent smell was pouring. She carefully placed them on one of the already overloaded tables, on which vials, as well as various bandages and ointments, were piled up.

"How's Tristan?" she inquired slowly, nodding Geralt only briefly to show that she had seen him. He stood agitated in the doorway.  
"Still can't talk since he bit his tongue. " the man declared regretfully. He had a slight lisp and slid slowly down from the cot, "Thank you for everything."

With a respectful look, the man, whose dentures bore a grotesque resemblance to those of a Nekker, scurried past Geralt, through the open door. No sooner did this fall into the castle than Yennefer sighed briefly. With a slightly grim expression on her face, she turned to the witcher.  
One eyebrow rose unerringly as she looked closer at him. Her violet eyes lingered shimmeringly on the reddened skin

Before Geralt decided not to answer her, something else caught his attention. On one of the small tables, which had once served as an ornament ages ago, the assortment of several healers now piled up. Something metallic flashed between the bandages and means. The silver medallion, the wolf's head.

Without hesitation, Geralt went up to it and seized it. The familiar cool silver chain flowed through his fingers.  
"I still need it. " Yennefer explained in an unusually hesitant voice, "And. . -"

"I'd rather not wear it because it will react to Jaskier's presence?", Geralt slipped it out quietly while he let it slide over his head. A feeling of relief came over him when he felt the pendant on his chest again.  
No shock was to be found in Yennefer's beautiful features, neither was guilt. She breathed on as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

"So you do know.", she slowly realized. Geralt nodded, fell into silence, although a thousand questions were burning on his tongue. Only after the sorceress had stowed away some utensils, he took a deep breath. "Why can't he remember?" he quietly followed, leaning against the sturdy oak table, "What have they done to him?"

"I can only guess at many things. His memory is blurry. " Yennefer replied slowly, grabbed a small, empty glass bottle and turned it in his hands, "It seems that for some reason the experiments seem to have worked perfectly for him and Nilfgaard was close to bringing him under control. To keep him submissive, they wanted to change his memory so that Jaskier would believe he was on their side."  
With every word, Geralt's throat became drier. An unpleasant shiver ran down his back. His bard almost became a weapon of Nilfgaard. 

"You took him out before they could finish their work.", the black-haired woman continued and put the bottle back on the table before turning to him again, "But Jaskier knows that something has happened and also senses that something is inside him. Only he has no connection to it and no clue what and how it came."  
She was silent for a moment. Their eyes met. The knot around Geralt's stomach tightened.

"Add to that the burden of what happened before Nilfgaard. " Yennefer said. Her expression was completely blank. Geralt's conscience gave him a sharp sting. Shame flared up in him as the echo of his own words resounded in his ear, the words he had thrown at Jaskier's head in blind rage on the mountain and which had destroyed his life forever. Nausea dominated him as he fixed the grey floor under his shoes.

"I could see he thought about it every day. ", said Yennefer and put another finger in the burning wound of guilt. "And yet he didn't give up. " she explained, did not avert his gaze, "Otherwise he would have died in this cell. . . -" Only slowly Geralt lifted his gaze again, forced himself to look into the fascinating violet eyes, which fixed him resolutely. Lilac and gooseberry mingled with the smell of the medicine around them.

"What can I do?"

The words came heavily over the witcher's lips. He never needed help. It contradicted his upbringing. He had always been trained and created to work alone and had always believed that not even fate itself could change anything. But nothing seemed to be as it was predestined and in the last days, his world had shifted once more. The only thing Geralt was aware of was the fact that he hurt the people around him too often and only steered their lives into abysses.

Yennefer did nothing to dispel his doubts, to his astonishment she seemed perplexed. "Jaskier needs time to regenerate..-" she said after much deliberation, "But that doesn't change the fact how dangerous he is."  
"He's not. . . -" Geralt wanted to start, but she interrupted him.  
"He is, Geralt and you know that." she said sharply, "How dangerous even Tissaia cannot answer. Even though I don't approve of her actions. . . "  
"What actions?" Geralt now interrupted the sorceress, crossed his arms in front of his chest.  
"Keep Jaskier away from the others until we know more." Yennefer replied directly. Anger flared up inside him  
"To lock him away like a dangerous and ill-bred animal without knowing why?", he repeated, gritting his teeth.

"We must give him back his memory as soon as more members of the lodge arrive.", Yennefer said clearly, sparkled at him, "He must be able to handle it, cause there is no possibility of a cure."  
His fingers trembled and Geralt shook his head in disbelief. They wanted to give him back the memories of the hell that Jaskier had gone through? The pain, the darkness, and the experience of the innumerable trials that had been endured. He closed his eyes briefly, not even wanting to imagine what had happened in this laboratory before he shook his head again.  
"No. "  
Geralt noticed, observed how Yennefer sorted some more remedies. A small silver tin was in her hands when she turned to him again.  
"He's been through so much already. " he said quietly, "I can't let you do this. "

"You try to protect him from things he can't be protected from!" Yennefer replied, her voice sounded angry, "It's in him, Geralt, and no one can accept responsibility for this danger."  
With verve, she threw the small metal container to him. Without difficulties, Geralt caught it, unscrewed the lid. The white paste smelled of several herbs.

"You'll need these.", Yennefer said succinctly and inspected him, "Maybe next time Jaskier will manage to cook you completely."  
Without a reply, Geralt turned away, went towards the door. His hope that Yennefer had a suitable answer to his helplessness, a piece of advice on what to do now, had been dashed abruptly.  
Yennefer didn't try to stop him.

The door fell into the lock behind him and Geralt felt more lost than ever when he made his way back to his room for the second time that day. The worst thing was that he could understand the sorceress's point of view. Undeniably, Jaskier's current condition was beyond everyone's control, but in his eyes, simply locking the bards away from the world was no solution. He deserved so much better.

Geralt was well aware that he could never completely free himself from his guilt. But he wanted to do what was in his power to help Jaskier in one way or another. This was the least he owed him.  
No sooner did Geralt enter his small, now familiar room than his gaze fell on the instrument leaning against the wall. Meanwhile, a layer of dust had settled on the dark wood of the lute. Tentatively Geralt took it in his hand and decided to pay another visit to his best friend at the same moment. Physically, Jaskier wasn't even able to leave the house right now, but maybe music would bring some light into the shadows that threatened to suffocate him. Even if Geralt would never admit it to himself, he also missed the music and all the evenings under the starry sky where he had accompanied Jaskier's voice through the nights.

Carefully he removed the fingerprints he had left with a cloth, wiped away the dust until the wood shimmered softly in the light and Geralt saw his reflection blurred on the dark surface.  
Determined but tense, he walked down the long corridor. This time he found the door to Jaskier's room locked. For a moment the witcher paused as he stood directly in front of it, listening. The weak heartbeat seemed calm, steady, but the smell of fear still seemed to float in the air.

Timidly the medallion began to hum. With a quick movement, Geralt put the pendant under the fabric of the shirt before he raised his hand and knocked softly. He received no answer, yet he turned the knob around and entered slowly.

Again Jaskier stood at the window. It seemed like he spent the time staring out. Near the bed, Geralt recognized a tray with water and an untouched bowl. Immediately the bad feeling in his stomach area increased, his fingers closed more violently around the neck of the lute.

"Jaskier?"  
Slowly did he turn around. His gaze darkened immediately when he recognized Geralt standing in the middle of the room. His facial features were clearly visible at the sight of the lute and for a moment his lower lip seemed to tremble.

Geralt had never been a man of words before. They clouded his thoughts, made no sense and not a single sound made it over his lips as he held out the lost instrument to the bard.  
Unexpectedly, he looked at it completely without emotion before he looked up embittered. Geralt had never seen these blue eyes so expressionless, never was there so much pain to read from them as in that moment. Uncertain, he let his arm sink, at a loss.

Jaskier laughed, full of bitterness.  
"You make every situation even worse", he brought forth quietly. He could hardly produce more than a hoarse croak and the witcher thought he had heard it only once. At a festival, in the middle of the most beautiful summer months of Toussaint, where the bard had sung all night long. Afterward, he had been mute for several days and since that event, Jaskier had always been careful not to strain his precious vocal cords.

His words hurt, like a sharp sting. Even though Geralt was aware of how many mistakes he had made towards Jaskier, he thought that this idea was not one of them. Still undecided he blinked at him.  
"Do you really think I can sing with that voice?" he inquired and pointed to his neck, on which the injuries were still visible.

"Maybe. . . -" Geralt started, "You just have to wait a little bit. . -"

"No!" No sooner did Jaskier become a little louder than an unmistakable scratching mingled with his voice. Trembling, he turned away, his hands clenched in fists. The metal pendant on Geralt's chest made a short jerk.

"I've been waiting for recovery for weeks.", he whispered. It sounded squeezed like he was about to burst into tears at any moment, "It's over. "

"Jaskier. . . -", mumbled Geralt. He had never felt so helpless in a fight before. Never before had an opponent been so powerful as the guilt that now weighed on him and squeezed the air out of him.  
"Maybe Yennefer. . . -," he thought in a desperate attempt to find a solution, to make up for what had happened, while he was threatened to choke on the fact that Jaskier had been deprived of what was most valuable. That Nilfgaard had obviously tormented him until his vocal cords suffered damage that was beyond repair.

A snort and Jaskier turned to him again. The long hair fell into his forehead and he brusquely wiped the strands of hair shimmering in the sunlight aside before he reached for the instrument with trembling hands.  
Perplexed, Geralt let the lute slip out of his fingers, watched Jaskier look at them for a moment like a long-lost friend. He briefly closed his eyes and took a deep breath. His fierce heartbeat filled the whole room.

"It's over. "  
With these words, Jaskier lifted his arms abruptly and broke the neck of the lute from the body with obvious last force. Wood crunched, splintered before the instrument fell to the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i promise, things will get better between them
> 
> thanks a lot for reading this <3


	12. the last breath of a siren

Several days passed by, days on which Geralt would have preferred not even to wake up. He was not tired, his physical wounds had healed but any condition was more pleasant than being awake. Inside he was devastated by the situation. With each day, Jaskier seemed to get worse. He refused food after vomiting several times. He was too weak to regenerate his physical wounds and increasingly Yennefer kept him alive by magical means, but he hardly let them get close to him either. A few hours ago Feliné had tried to take care of the bard. The splintering of the window had made the walls of the house shake and since then Jaskier had retreated to his room. Geralt abhorred the fact that he was locked in a room alone with his dark thoughts and shadows.  
  
At the same time, Yennefer devoted himself to the other patients. It was a mystery to Geralt how she found the time to search for a remedy to restore Jaskier's voice. The lack of sleep also afflicted the sorceress, who became increasingly irritable in her hitherto unsuccessful search. Geralt also had to keep his temper in check. In the little peace, he had at night, dark and increasingly brutal nightmares haunted him. Like sand the time ran between his fingers and with every day the sun was leaning towards the horizon he Jaskier a little bit more, the chances became even smaller. It was already afternoon when tentative steps approached the small room in which Geralt had retreated to roll through different books hour after hour. They all dealt with various potions and rituals, but nothing had been helpful without massive consistency.  
It demoralized him and he resisted the urge to smash the book against the wall between his fingers. A gentle knock made him raise his head. It was Triss who came into the room, holding in his hands a small, slightly worn silver tray with two chipped cups from which it steamed. Immediately a touch of chamomile filled the heavy air and made Geralt's heart get a little heavier. Silently the sorceress sat down on the small stool next to him and handed one of the cups of Geralt, who thanked her with a short nod. His fingers clasped around the warm porcelain.  
"You haven't found anything yet either?" Triss broke the silence after some time in which the witcher turned over more pages. Openly she looked at him with her blue eyes while he took a sip of tea.  
The slightly bitter taste spread on his tongue, but his stomach welcomed the warm drink. In fact, he could not remember the last meal.  
"No" Geralt slowly replied, "Nothing that is within the realm of possibility or would actually work." Enervated, he pushed one of the worn-out books away, Triss stretched her neck and threw a curious glance at the pages.  
"Standing naked on a full moon in a barrel of eagle eyes should make every voice sound like an angel?" she read aloud from the yellowed paper and get only a snort from Geralt. The literature in this house was limited and Yennefer had already explained to him that she could not organize a traveling library. Nonetheless, every spark of hope he had found so far was limited to imposture instead of magic.  
  
"There must be another solution." Geralt said resolutely, directed the gaze of his cat-like eyes to another pile of books, which we're still waiting for him and of which he hoped that their whispering described pages would tell him their secrets.  
"Geralt. . . " Triss began, now completely seriously. Completely calm, she put her half-drunk cup back on the table and looked at him. Her iris was shimmering, today especially emphasized by the golden dress, which glided over her body like a waterfall of liquid metal when she bent over to the witcher.  
"What if there's no cure?" she said softly, but he flinched as if she had yelled at him, "What if things stay the same?" Full of disbelief Geralt opened his mouth, trembling his hand closed around the cup.  
"What are you saying?" he replied, trying hard to make his voice sound firm. Everything in him screamed, didn't want to hear anything of what he had pushed aside unspokenly, into the furthest corner of himself. The red-haired mage gently touched his arm, stroking the rough linen of the shirt before she drew breath as if she were preparing herself for what was to come.  
"Maybe it's too late for Jaskier?" Triss said timidly, "Maybe. . -"  
Geralt didn't let her get a word in edgewise, jumped up abruptly, and broke free from her touch. His legs trembled with tension. It couldn't be. Jaskier would get his voice back. He would regain his strength and sing again. Would leave this property behind and move on. Maybe he could finally be happy as soon as Geralt no longer stood in his way. But first, he had to repair the damage he had done, whatever the cost. There was no maybe.  
Full of disbelief he shook his head. Slowly his nervously tied back hair came loose from the braid. Nausea crept up his throat while Triss still looked at him calmly from below as if she wanted to bring him to his senses. Again she stretched out her arm.  
The door swung open. Geralt had not noticed Felinés quick steps. Triss also rose alarmed.  
"Geralt. . . -" the silver-blonde sorceress, a little out of breath, began, "Yennefer needs you. "  
"What?" he said, already turned to the door.  
"Julian. " Feliné replied curtly, "He wants to leave. "  
"What's he up to?" Triss said perplexed but followed as the other two left the room and hastily crossed the hall. Feliné just shrugged her shoulders before she pulled her long, cream-colored dress over her ankles with both hands so that the fabric would not wrap around them.   
  
"He did not give me a precise description of his plans. " she sharply explained. The echo of their steps echoed between the walls as the three turned the corner and found themselves in the gallery overlooking the entrance hall.  
At the foot of the wide marble stairs, Geralt recognized Jaskier. Yennefer stood at a safe distance in front of him, spoke softly. Hastily they walked around, down the stairs. Both turned their eyes when Triss, Feliné, and Geralt joined them. For a split second, relief appeared on Yennefer's face, Jaskier's expression darkened. The medallion on Geralt's chest came to life.  
Without a word, the bard pushed past them, didn't even make two wobbly steps towards the main gate when Geralt instinctively touched him carefully on the shoulder. Immediately Jaskier flinched as if he had been beaten and turned around.  
"Let me go!" he hissed, shaking Geralt's hand. The scratching in his voice was hard to ignore and it seemed to take a lot of effort to get some words out at all.  
"Where are you going?" Feliné asked in a calm, matter-of-fact tone, "Nilfgaard. . -"  
"Away. . -", Jaskier cut her off, looked down, and avoided every look. Tense, he had his arms crossed over his chest, "From all of you. " He coughed up, tried to clear his throat, but the croaking remained, which only made him angrier. 

"You can't get out. " Geralt found out. Except for the danger of Nilfgaard, the sky had opened all the floodgates. Within the next hours, it would not stop raining, even if Jaskier was able to travel. It already astonished the sorcerer that he had managed to cross the estate. The strain was already getting to him. Jaskier staggered slightly, his chest rising and falling rapidly. Angrily the younger one sparkled at him, opened his mouth, but his vocal cords finally failed.

"You should go back to bed. " Triss noted, stepped forward, and reached for Jaskier. He stumbled back. Immediately Geralt groped for the pendant of the wolf school which now hummed constantly.  
"Leave me alone, witch. " Jaskier hissed hoarsely. Triss froze in the middle of the movement. Her features were completely devoid of expression. With his arm Geralt pushed the sorceress carefully back, not letting his helplessness show. The situation threatened to escalate.  
"Jaskier. -"  
Desperately, the blue eyes scurried over to him, full of fear. Since he had arrived here, he had felt nothing else about the otherwise cheerful bard, and Geralt was overcome by the fierce desire to finally take all the burden away from him. Jaskier hesitantly groped further backward, working with small stiff steps in the direction of the gate. At the same time, his gaze slid uneasily between them, as if expecting someone to jump at him at any moment.   
"Jaskier, I'll carry you back if I have to", Geralt clarified, stepped forward.   
  
"Don't touch me, witcher", Jaskier immediately replied, "What. . -" The sentence hung unspokenly in the air flickering with tension, Jaskier coughed again and cramped. For a fraction of a second it seemed it would simply sink into itself, Geralt already stretched out his fingers but was abruptly torn back.  
With a firm grip, Yennefer had grabbed his arm and pulled it back. Their eyes met and she shook her head. They couldn't take the risk, magic surrounded Jaskier as if he was glowing from the inside, the medallion was dancing under the fabric of the shirt by now. The consequences were hardly foreseeable. Only slowly the bard straightened up again, stood slightly bent in front of them, his whole body trembling. He was sweaty and pale in the face. With clenched teeth, he tried to hide the pain. He was still determined to leave them all behind. 

"Jaskier. " Geralt tried again, "Come back or. . . "  
"Or what?" he replied, his voice almost a breath, "So I can take the blame for everything again?"  
The words hit Geralt like a punch in the pit of his stomach. For a few moments, he looked at Jaskier completely expressionless. Only a moment ago everything in him had raved, but now he was burnt out, completely empty. Only when the younger one turned to go did he react instinctively. Jaskier was not allowed to go. He would die within hours. Geralt was not sure if he could ever forgive himself for this, but at that moment it was the only solution.

"Please stay," he said aloud, his echo caught between the stone walls, mingled with the crackling of the rain. Once more Jaskier turned his head, recognizing how the witcher raised his hand and drew a complicated sign in the air. He already opened his mouth to protest, but then a warm white fog enveloped him and he promptly lost consciousness. Before Jaskier could hit the stone floor, Geralt put his arms around the now lifeless body.  
His skin was cool and the pendant on his chest stood still.  
"I'm so sorry. " he murmured softly as he carefully lifted him up. It seemed as if this one didn't weigh anything anymore.

"Had to be done. " Triss replied in a harsh voice and came closer. Yennefer exchanged a long look with him. Her lips were narrow and the look of her amethyst-colored eyes shimmered with worry as she stretched out her fingers and placed them on Jaskier's carotid artery. Calmly his heartbeat now, but Geralt also felt how weak he was. His grip hardened, he pressed the younger ones closer to him.   
"Take him to my room. " Yennefer explained, "I'll change the bandages and try to give him another potion to build up. " Geralt did as he was told and laid Jaskier down gently on the bed, hardly having arrived in the small and run-down room.  
Even in his sleep, the sad draught around the corner of his mouth did not disappear and only made Geralt's heart heavier. With a knot in his chest, he let himself sink to the edge of the bed. 

The storm raged outside the window and whistled through the wall howling as if it wanted to mock the witcher in his helplessness.  
"I'm so sorry," he repeated quietly. Without thinking, he raised his hand and stroked a stray strand of hair from Jaskier's face. His trembling fingers stiffened the younger man's cheek. The stubble scratched gently as he stroked it. The wound, which extended from the temple down to the collarbone, was still irritated and vulnerable. Steps sounded in his ears. Hastily he pulled his arm back, clasped his hands in his lap as Yennefer entered the room, with him some gauze bandages, ointment as he could infer from the medicinal scent, and an old, damaged page of a book.  
"You should take a look at this," she said. Her voice was almost swallowed by the roar of the storm as she handed him the parchment.

Quickly the witcher flew over the squiggly handwritten words on it. His stomach curled. It was a description of a potion. Ingredients like ginger, turmeric, and the pickled tendrils of an ivy were familiar to him. It was only the last line that made him hesitate.  
"Last breath of a siren"? Geralt spoke out loud and raised his eyes. Yennefer nodded seriously. "Preserved in crystal." she added, "One life must be taken to save another. "

"A voice must die." murmured Geralt. He held the precious parchment firmly between his fingers. Hope drove the leaden heaviness from his limbs.  
"Could it work?" he asked Yennefer and looked directly into her eyes, trying to interpret every movement.  
"The odds are not good, but they're better than anything we've experienced," she said honestly and unscrewed the can of ointment. Her black hair shimmered by candlelight. There was no guarantee, but this was more than they both hoped to find. The bed creaked softly as Geralt rose.

"There are sirens all around and on Skellige." he murmured, more to himself than to Yennefer. His mind was made up. Part of him had already sorted the necessary luggage. "I'll be back in a week." The last words were addressed to Jaskier because Geralt's eyes rested on him full of concern. It seemed uncertain whether the bard would last that long. Determination seized him and with an almost grim expression on his face he turned to the mage again.  
"I'll be on my way right now. "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank for reading this. to all the people who left kudos and comments: you're the true heros, i love you <3
> 
> ** little spoiler **
> 
> the next chapter will be soft. i promise.


	13. reunion

The days flew by. Geralt had given himself a week to get near the coast of Skellige and find a siren and kill it purposefully to get the most important ingredient for the potion, which promised to restore Jaskier's voice. After Yennefer had seen the witcher walk through the portal, she had been called to Aretusa with urgency. She followed the order and so Triss and Felinè took over the responsibility for the estate and the current inhabitants.

A week and a half passed without the red-haired sorceress having received any signals from Geralt, nor had he returned. Gradually the constant worry accompanied her, sprouted more strongly in her as she checked the potions once more. Triss was sure that she had miscounted through her inattention, with all the fog in her head. Once again she carefully went with her fingers through every single glass vial, as well as every little bottle, only to find out, discouraged, that the supplies were even scarcer than she had suspected. Already days ago she had reduced the medication of some patients. There was no choice if there have to be enough for everyone. By Jaskier, she had had to downgrade the medicine because he didn't even tolerate her around him anymore. This gave Triss another reason to avoid him, even though his condition did not improve. She did not like the idea of taking care of the bard on her own. He always reacted dismissively and Felinè did not find any connection to him either. On the day before yesterday a jug in his room was abruptly shattered into a thousand pieces. With each passing day, the magic seeped more and more out of his tense body. It seemed reckless to Triss to treat him as a simple patient and even to grant him free access to the house, but Yennefer had strictly rejected all talks in this direction. Knowing how Geralt would react, if they should start to put Jaskier in a room or take other safety precautions.

Immersed in further dark thoughts, Triss put the magic utensils back into their place. Glass clinked softly, her hands trembled while she listened lost to the tapping of the rain. As night fell, a storm in early summer swept over the entire country. Something else suddenly made the walls of the house shake. Abruptly Triss lifted her head, hoping that she did not misinterpret the vibrations in the air.  
Alarmed she stepped out of the dusky room. Full of tension, she walked through the corridors, hurrying towards the former dining hall, which, thanks to its sublime size, served as a refuge for meetings and conferences. At that point in the night, she found the hall dark and almost deserted, except for the last sparkling glimmer of a portal that had just disintegrated in the cold air around her. A flash of lightning flashed across the sky, illuminating the surroundings for fractions of a second and distortedly illuminating a single figure that slipped out of the shadow. Full of relief, Triss breathed again.

"I'm glad you're back."  
With an elegant movement, the figure took off the hood. A short smile flickered across Yennefer's face. Water ran from the coat, whose fabric was so dark that it melted into the night. Carelessly she laid the soaked garment over one of the backs of the chair. Despite her slightly reddened eyes, which showed signs of fatigue, she wasted no time in taking a rest. Both women left the room.

"Interesting news?" Yennefer made a curt inquiry and pulled her gloves with leather trimmings off her fingers. They had dirt on them. Her footsteps echoed softly in the corridors.  
"Our supplies are running low. " Triss reported gloomily, "Tissaia will have to take care of it. " "Now that Aretusa is safe for the time being, and under new protective spells, she will devote herself to this matter." Yennefer replied, "Were you able to prepare the potion for Jaskier yet?" "No." Triss replied slowly. The bad feeling grew again, "Geralt is not back yet. "  
Immediately a shadow was cast over Yennefer's features. Soft strands of black hair stuck to her forehead, glistening in the light of the few candles that lit the hallway as she stopped. Triss did the same.  
"I don't know how far Geralt had to go to find sirens. There is a several days' walk between us and the Skellige coast. "  
"Still, he should be back by now." Triss replied, biting her lip slightly. Yennefer was silent as they walked along. More flashes lit up the corridor as they walked down the stairs.

The walls of the estate shook under the following thunder, which in the distance faded away like the beat of a kettledrum. A scream wafted through the hallways. Both women raised their heads and hurried off in the approximate direction from which the fearful call had come. Halfway down the wide corridor towards the gallery, a sillhoutte came towards them, groping in the dark.

Yennefer raised her arm, muttered a few words before reaching out her hand. Above the ball of her hand, a brightly glowing flame flickered crawled over her slender fingers and bathed everything in a shaky glow that painted grotesquely long shadows on the walls. In front of them stood the young girl with the orange-red hair, which now shone in the light of the fire. Small, roundish scales shimmered on her arms and her temples as she approached.

"Krea?", asked Triss. The young woman hardly reached the magician's shoulder as they stood in front of each other. She was also one of the prisoners of Nilfgaard. So far she had hardly spoken a word to anyone. Her soulful brown eyes were wide open in shock. Stuttering sounds escaped her, the long nightgown trembled on her fragile body.  
"In the hall. . . ", blurted she out, "E-E ..- A dead man!"  
Yennefer and Triss exchanged a glance.

"Triss will get you back to bed," Yennefer gently promised, "I'll look directly at it."  
Their paths parted as Triss accompanied the completely dissolved girl back to her sleeping chambers. Meanwhile, the other sorceress hurried towards the hall.  
At the landing of the stairs, her raven-black curls were already bulging in the roar of the storm. The wooden main gate stood wide open, leaves soared through the room and when the lightning struck again, Yennefer saw the broad figure on the marble floor trying to straighten up.

"Geralt!"  
With clenched teeth the witcher looked up, dried blood stuck to his skin, and in his knotted white hair. His right hand cramped into his side, at a point where his armor was almost shredded. More blood came out.  
She looked critically at the wound, crouched down, and reached out her hand to Geralt. His fingers were cold when he accepted her help. Wobbly he stood in front of her, the last color fading from his face.  
"I'll take care of it", Yennefer spoke reassuringly to him. With every step, cold sweat ran down his face. Only with effort Geralt reached the room and collapsed on the bed.

At first, he had thought that the deep scratch wasn't worth mentioning, only the wound tore again with every movement and chased a sharp pain through his body. On the horse, he had not had any time to regenerate and it was only thanks to the effect of swallow that he had arrived.  
He had been on the move for days and nights, resting only to allow Roach a break as he continued towards the nearest island of Skellige. Halfway along the way, he had come across some sirens.  
The fight on the ship that had agreed to take him along had been short but intense. The last siren had clawed into the sensitive skin of his side as he knelt over her to preserve the last breath, the exhalation of her life.

With trembling, bloodstained fingers he groped for the leather bag, lifting it from his shoulder. He pulled out a small bundle, several linen cloths were wrapped protectively around a shimmering vessel of pure crystal, which was securely closed with a cork. Yennefer recognized it immediately.  
It was the one she had given to Geralt on the journey. Now there was a kind of swirling haze inside, bluish and glittering. Surprised she took it in her hand.  
"Perfect", she murmured, looked at Geralt again, who had let himself sink, eyes closed. He was weak. Only with Yennefer's help, he managed to get rid of what was left of his armor, so the mage could devote herself to the frayed and inflamed cut. The last thing Geralt could remember was a glaring green light in her hands.

———————————————————

Wet with sweat Geralt rolled around, wanted to sink back into the padded land of dreamless sleep, wanted to ignore the unpleasant hammering in his left half of the body. He squeezed his eyes tightly together, although light flooded into the room. It must have become day. It was the only thought he could grasp clearly. Misty clouds drifted into his head, his leaden bones pulling him into the depths.  
It took a few moments for his senses to clear and he could hear the steady heartbeat nearby, the soft breath, the rustling of clothes and a familiar scent of pine and something he could never name, a whiff and certainly an imagination of his stunned mind.  
His eyes were glued together, only after several attempts Geralt managed to open them dull blinking before he lifted his head with great effort. With one blow the dusky state had disappeared. His eyes widened when he realized that the closeness had neither been an imagination nor a dream.

Jaskier sat next to the bed, on one of the worn-out chairs scattered around the room.  
Geralt was shocked to discover that the bard was even more colorless than when they last met as if he was fading like a painting. For the first time since his escape from Nilfgaard, he was not surrounded by fiery anger or an all-consuming panic. Just a deep sadness and something lost as if he didn't know where to go.  
With some effort, Geralt managed to lean on his healthy arm and straighten up so that he could lean against the wooden bed frame.

For seconds they only looked at each other. The white in Jaskier's eyes was bloodshot and made the otherwise shining blue look cloudy like washed-out linen. Nervously he kneaded his hands. He seemed to lack any words and the witcher could tell by the throbbing of his carotid artery how his pulse was rising.  
A thousand questions burned Geralt's lips, so hard that he wondered why Jaskier didn't see their sitting there. His throat was as if dried out when he opened his mouth.

"The potion?", he croaked after some attempts. Omitting the answer, the younger one just silently handed him a wooden cup, helped him take a few sips of water as a matter of course. The brief contact of her skin made her shrink back.  
"Thank you", Geralt said softly, looked at him again, asking. At the same time, a ray of sunlight fell through the dusty window on Jaskier's face, making his skin look fragile like paper.  
A sad smile flitted over his lips.  
"The potion worked," he said, and goosebumps trickled over Geralt's body. No more scratching, no more hoarseness. Jaskier sounded like himself, completely familiar.  
Relief overwhelmed him, inspired him that Geralt dared to slowly lift his legs out of bed. Despite his accelerated regeneration, every movement cost him enormous strength.  
At no moment did Jaskier let him out of his sight. The witcher registered the accelerated heartbeat as well as the trembling hands the bard held in his lap. His knuckles cracked softly.

"Thank you," Jaskier finally muttered, more to the floor under him than to Geralt himself, "I..-"  
Expressionlessly, the elder shook his head. The feelings of guilt hit him up like waves and he leaned on his knees, tense, before hiding his face in his hands for a moment.  
"No," he said, uncertain whether he was ready for what was to come. The active ingredients of the potions dulled his senses, a layer of cotton wool lay on his ears and his mind seemed unable to follow the words that stumbled over his tongue as if he couldn't bring them out fast enough.

"I'm sorry, Jaskier," he spoke in all seriousness and looked his best friend in the eyes. Despite swallowing hard, his mouth remained dry. "I'm sorry for every single word and you have nothing to thank me for after all this. I can't make anything unsaid...-"  
Jaskier bit his lip violently. He would rather have avoided this topic. Only, on the mountain, Geralt's accusations had eaten into him and taken roots, slowly crushing his heart with every memory. And he had thought about it often, far too often. They filled his empty hours with despair and hopelessness. Nothing else had remained for him in the cells of Nilfgaard.

"None of this is true", Geralt continued to explain. His lower lip was shaking too, no matter how hard he tried to stay calm. With the hectic breath, the skin of the injured side tightened uncomfortably. "Nothing was ever true. I was angry, I..."  
The courage left him. Helpless and with his mouth open, he watched Jaskier chew his lip violently. In the meantime, his hands had cramped up.

"Maybe I should have known...-" he brought out pressed, "That you..-"  
"You have every right to hate me, Jaskier", Geralt whispered, "I hurt you and will never forgive me."  
Leaden silence enveloped her. Only one bird cheerfully sang a song outside the window.  
Jaskier had lowered his head again, his long hair falling over his face. He trembled and when they looked at each other again, tears ran down his cheeks.  
For a moment Geralt twitched, wanted to take him in his arms until he realized with full hardness that he was the reason why Jaskier was so torn apart. Frozen in his standing up, he slipped from the edge of the bed onto his knees.

With a surprised sound, Jaskier blinked down at him. Tears also sparkled on his eyelashes.  
"Geralt...-," he pushed out, shaking his head as if he couldn't believe what was happening at that moment before he continued.  
"I was so angry with you," he confessed, "I never wanted to see you again."  
There was nothing Geralt could say back, nothing that was appropriate. Everything in him contracted, yet he persisted, ignoring the sharp burning on his side.  
"And then Nilfgaard came and I had no choice," Jaskier explained, suppressing a sob, while more tears welled up. He wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt. More and more fiercely Geralt fought against the impulse to touch him.  
"I was looking for you. Everywhere..-"  
Alone at the memory, he shivered and broke off abruptly. Timidly, Geralt stretched out his hand, put it on Jaskier's finger. He did not flinch. There was no smell of fear in the air.

Geralt looked at him while he realized with full hardness what traces the events had left behind.  
Deep wounds that would never heal completely. Jaskier did not even have his complete memory of what had happened between the walls of the Nilfgaard fortress, of what he had become. For a split second, Geralt thought he couldn't breathe. How could he ever put such a burden on him?

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, even if his words could not even make the great pain a little bit less.  
Lost, he stroked again and again over the cool skin, drew little circles on the back of his hands until Jaskier enclosed his fingers with his own. Again he blinked at the still kneeling witcher. Some strands of hair fell into his forehead.  
"The last time was a bit much," he sighed up, wiping his sleeve over his mouth and nose again. His eyes still gleamed moistly and Geralt returned his gaze, felt with a pleasant feeling how Jaskier's grip around his hand hardened. Could it be? He hardly dared to hope that the younger one didn't flee.

"I was an idiot, Jaskier," Geralt explained quietly. His heart pounded against his ribs as a smile crept up on Jaskier's lips. It was the first time for a long time and even though the sun had hidden behind a cloud outside, the room seemed brighter than before.  
"Were?" he repeated, his eyebrows raised unerringly, driving the last vestiges of despair from his features, "You are."  
"Yes, I'm an idiot," Geralt surrendered to his fate and raised both hands in appeasement, because his blood rushed in his ears, the proximity almost befogged him. He hardly managed to focus. The potion must be stronger than he thought.  
"A fault redressed is half confessed", Jaskier said seriously, returning the skeptical look of the amber eyes, whose iris widened as Geralt smiled at him.  
"You think there is still hope with me," he replied skeptically. Jaskier laughed and a shiver ran down Geralt's back. Warmth flooded through him from the inside as the tension between them crumbled.

Without warning, Jaskier slipped off the gnarled chair, straight into the arms of his best friend. With a surprised sound, Geralt reflexively pressed him to himself, enveloped by a veil of familiar body heat and the heartbeat, right next to his own.  
Dizzy and looking for a hold, he laid his hands on the bard's narrow back, pressed him to himself while he buried his face in Jaskiers shoulder.

With his eyes closed, he took a deep breath. Not even the short twitch of his medallion could disturb him at this moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welp, I clearly took to long for this chapter but this week was hell.  
> thank you for reading <3


	14. Finally United

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger // eating disorder

"Just one more."

"No."

"Jaskier, please."

Urgency was in Geralt's voice as he pushed the small basket filled with bread closer to the younger man in a prompting manner. Stubbornly, Jaskier looked past it, his long fingers clutching around a fragile cup The scent of rose hips and honey wafted through the dingy kitchen, and instead of another piece of bread, the bard took only a sip of tea.

So far, the witcher had only been able to persuade him to eat a little. At the same time, he eyed Jaskier's physical condition with suspicion. Clattering, the latter now placed the cup back on the table, abruptly returning Geralt's worried gaze.  
"You must eat," he stated. Immediately Jaskier heaved a sigh, staring again at the old tabletop beneath his hands. Briefly, he traced a few notches with his finger, pausing on what was probably a decades-old burn mark, digressing to the thought of how the wood must have charred before Geralt shuffled his chair back.

Silently, the younger man watched as he went to the back of the sideboard, where empty dishes were piled up, as were some empty vials, but Geralt reached into a bowl filled with fruit and picked out three apples, which he carefully checked for bruises and worms. Frowning, Jaskier watched as the witcher picked up a small pocket knife and began to peel an apple slowly. The red-green peel curled further and further towards the table, while Jaskier managed to empty the cup after a small eternity.

Before he could ask why Geralt was now peeling the fruit into careful little pieces and draping them on the board, he was already pushing the board towards him, with a serious expression in his amber eyes. His brow was furrowed in worry. A gentle breeze passed through the cracks of the worn kitchen, whistling softly and tunelessly to itself.

"Thanks." muttered Jaskier, taking one of the pieces. Briefly, fear crept up inside him again that he would not keep a single meal in, yet he popped the morsel into his mouth. It was worth it just for Geralt's almost satisfied expression.

He managed half of the apple before his stomach rebelled. Slight cramps made him restlessly push the rest aside. Meanwhile, Geralt had stood up and carelessly placed the used dishes with the others before turning back to Jaskier.

"I'm sorry-" he began apologetically, but was gently interrupted.

"That's more than I expected," Geralt explained, "I'm sure Roach will be happy with the rest."Relieved, Jaskier watched as the witcher collected the remaining fruit, as well as the two remaining apples, before slowly turning to leave. Uncertainly at first, Jaskier followed him, but when Geralt pushed open the wooden door and looked at him, Jaskier quickened his steps and caught up with his friend. Together they walked across the soft grass, which whispered softly under their soles, over to the stable. Even from a distance, the spicy smell of horses filled the scent, mingling with that of the distant pines at the edge of the small grove.

Both men step into the stable than a deafening whinny boomed out at them. Roach welcomed them loudly from her huge stall, which she shared with a small black horse and which took up almost the entire stable. Only at the side were stacked bales of hay, wooden half-ruined boxes and a massive cabinet, which apparently served to store the saddlery, because even Jaskier perceived a strong smell of leather emanating from it.

While Geralt greeted his mare, the little black horse approached Jaskier and nudged him gently. His bushy mane reached almost over his nostrils.  
"Here.", Geralt said and handed him some pieces of the apple, which he still held in his hand and after which Roach greedily stretched his head.

"Thank you," Jaskier replied, holding out his hand at the moment when Geralt himself took a step closer. Their fingers touched briefly, their eyes met. Geralt still could not believe that this was really happening. The last days had been chaos and he had spent quite a few of them believing that he would not see his bard again. The other time he had been convinced Jaskier himself did not want to see him again.

"And yet here we are." muttered Geralt, more to himself, for Jaskier had already turned his attention to the little horse, which greedily took the apple from his hand.  
"What?" the younger man replied, a brief smile on his lips. Before turning back to him, he wiped his slobbered hand on his trousers. Before Geralt could reply, Roach decided she was not prepared to wait that long for her snack. Rudely, she poked her owner's head in the back, almost causing him to stumble.

"Your lady is impatient," Jaskier remarked amusedly as the brown nose now tried to bite Geralt's white hair. "I can tell," he grumbled, finally handing the mare the longed-for treat. Roach chewed with relish, but didn't miss the opportunity to give some of the treat back to Geralt. Impetuously, she rubbed her head against him again, spreading a mixture of drool and apple remains over him and his clothes.

Geralt ducked under his horse, whose hungry mouth demanded more, before she subjecting his long hair to another taste test.  
"You have something left," Jaskier said softly, pointing vaguely at Geralt. He looked at him questioningly, bent down a little and hesitantly the bard stepped closer. With flying fingers he read a few pieces of half-chewed apple from Geralt's hair. As he did so, the back of Jaskier's hand brushed his cheek.

Immediately the medallion began to tremble gently. Geralt had almost forgotten that he had the pendant back. It had remained silent for the last few hours, but it seemed that the magic was now steadily leaking out again. The reaction did not go unnoticed by Jaskier either. Hastily he withdrew his hand, looked questioningly first at the necklace and then at Geralt.

"Probably just the after-effects of Yennefer's healing spell," he slipped out, but he did not look Jaskier in the eyes. He could not lie to his face, but he could not reveal the truth to him. For the first time in days they stood side by side without an argument, without it tearing them both apart.

Jaskier did not question this. At that moment, Geralt noticed again how exhausted he looked. But there was still one small thing to be done. And now the he was also sure that he would do nothing wrong.

"I want to show you something else," he confessed quietly. Jaskier looked at him almost incredulously, furrowing his brow.  
"You want to show me .. what?" he repeated, very slowly, as if he didn't believe his own ears. At that moment, Geralt noticed for the first time how much they had changed in recent times. Thanks to Ciri and their time together, he had managed to become more open and communicative. Jaskier's current condition did the rest and Geralt tried with all his might not to fall back into old patterns of his grim, taciturn and often disrespectful self. Even if it took some effort.

Roach mumbled sadly after them as they left the stable. It was just about lunchtime and the sun was beaming down on them. Dazzled, Jaskier remained on the grass for a few seconds, staring up in fascination at the small clouds that glided over them like tiny specks. The blue of his iris shimmered as clear as the sky itself at that moment. Stunned, the witcher noticed that Jaskier's dark brown hair shimmered golden in the sunlight. His fingertips itched to reach into it again. The very thought confused Geralt and he almost shook his head. Ashamed, he averted his eyes and they walked silently back into the estate.

No one met them on the way, although Geralt heard some footsteps and voices in the rooms.  
"I'll be right back," he declared, stopping at the door to his room. Irritated, Jaskier nodded and decided to follow the instruction and wait in his bedchamber. He couldn't help but notice that Geralt was behaving strangely in parts, but the bard didn't have the nerve to wonder about the behaviour either. His stomach was still cramping slightly and he was exhausted. Every step was agony and with relief he sank down on the bed as soon as he stepped into the room. Only a few minutes later Geralt followed. His face betrayed nothing, was completely expressionless, his arms held folded behind his back as he entered.  
Confused, Jaskier blinked at him and was about to open his mouth when Geralt held out his lute to him in the next moment.

The dark wood gleamed intact in the light of the midday sun, freshly covered strings stretched across the neck. There was no sign of any breakage. Completely overwhelmed, Jaskier rose, reached for the instrument and wild joy flooded through him as he closed his fingers around it.  
"How..-?" he stammered, certain that he had destroyed the elves' lute in his outburst and that it would not be salvageable.

"The people on Skellige are masters of craftsmanship," Geralt explained. A rare smile was on his lips before he cleared his throat briefly, "I thought-"  
That was as far as he got, for Jaskier fell into his arms, hugging both, Geralt and the lute tightly. He quivered and older reflexively wrapped his arms around him, feeling the wild heartbeat so close to his own, the warmth that enveloped him and the feeling of security that flared in his chest.

"Thank you.", Jaskier murmured, disengaging from him again and looking at the instrument once more with bright eyes. Again and again his fingertips stroked it, tentatively tracing the spot of the fracture where nothing indicated it.

A little shaky, he sat down on the bed again and tentatively began to pluck the first strings. No real melody, but the feeling of the music almost overwhelmed him. It had been ages since he had last played. Caught in his own mind of wild joy and overwhelm, he registered Geralt sitting down next to him and leaning carefully against the wooden stand.

As a test, Jaskier also struck the other strings, listening with goose bumps all over his body as the individual notes faded between the walls before he tentatively began to catch a melody.Meanwhile, Geralt just sat there, completely absorbed. A soft shiver ran down his spine too as Jaskier began to play softly, just as a test. His fingers were still trembling, and in between he brushed his hair out of his face.

Relaxing, Geralt closed his eyes, breathed, called in, concentrating solely on the playing, the sounds making the tension crumble from him, as well as Jaskier's now steady heartbeat. Again he smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so fucking sorry for being inactive as hell. There was a writers block and instead of fighting this I accidentally binge watched Supernatural ...  
> Thanks for everbody who is still here, you're awesome guys! <3


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